


Never Again I'll Go Sailing

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Castiel Being an Idiot, Cold Castiel, Communication Failure, Crying Castiel, Crying Dean, Dean Being an Idiot, Emotional Dean, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ghosts, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nearly Human Castiel, Sam Ships It, Smut, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 84,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8376853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: A beach house on an idyllic stretch of sand, a simple salt and burn, a case that, taken at face value, is perfect. But when hearts are breaking and words are wounding, is this case the backdrop to a last chance at reconciliation, or a final distraction before an inevitable parting?Because simple cases never turn out that simple, and uncovering one mystery just seems to create even more of them. And when leaving is the only certainty in their future, how can they help someone who is stuck in the past?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely people :)
> 
> Alright, this one's a casefic with a load of angst, this is the first time I've actually sat here sobbing my heart out whilst writing one and I still don't know how much of that is because it was so angsty (a fair amount) or how much I was just being a sap at the time (also a fair amount).
> 
> Things to tell you/warn you about:
> 
> 1) Our babies are sad, very sad at times, but this is a MCD-free zone.  
> 2) It's also a cheat-free zone, there'll be none of that, thank you very much.  
> 3) But there will be crying, there will be wailing, there will be idjits who cannot communicate.  
> 4) And if it gets too sad at times, just remember, you're likely only reading this because you've read my stuff before: so you already know how my stories usually pan out. You also know I'm a regular poster: every couple of days depending on what's happening with me - it's all written, all ready to go, not in any danger of being abandoned.  
> 5) This is a ghost story. This ghost is not friendly, in fact it's downright aggressive. If ghosts aren't your thing, I apologise, this might not be for you.  
> 6) The title of the fic was chosen from lyrics in the song mentioned in the fic - and the song was chosen because a) it's a beautiful song and b) it's from one of my favourite X Files episodes, I'm sure fellow X-Philers will know the one ;)  
> 7) I own nothing. Not the characters, not the random names used in the fic, nor the places mentioned, unfortunately, I'd quite like a beach house.  
> 8) There are things mentioned in this fic that I know a reasonable amount about, others I know less about, and others still I have no business even tainting with my words. Oops.  
> 9) I'd like to thank Hozier, Sia, Pearl Jam and Disturbed for keeping me company throughout this fic, not sure how much they'd appreciate that but there you go...
> 
> That's it, really. This wasn't written with any specific people in mind. But if you've ever loved someone you couldn't be with, or ever loved someone and had others tell you it was wrong, then, well, this is for you.
> 
> :) xx

_Somewhere beyond the sea… somewhere waiting for me… my lover stands on golden sands… and watches the ships that go sailin'..._

 

The lull and cresting crackle of the needle in its vinyl groove is soothing. A continuous background purr as the record spins, the speakers pulse, the empty air of the room is filled with music. Two bodies slot together perfectly, hip to hip, chest to chest, turning a small circle in time with the melody embracing them, lifted by lyrics as they lean on one another.

 

The view from the window, were they to take the time to look, is breathtaking. Waves roar as they crash, slipping along the sand and stripping it from the beach in a frothy claim. Seagulls caw and dive overhead, a child draws wet faces with a twig, a couple walk arm in arm dangling shoes from absent fingers and leave a trail of sinking footprints behind them as they pass.

 

Time passes. The sun slips across the sky, and more of the sand is swallowed. Two bodies slot together perfectly, hips around hips, chest against chest. Chasing forgiveness, clinging to memories, clutching for hope.

 

Sadness dims lingering looks, defeat taints tentative kisses, regret fills every movement as actions try to replace what words have lost the ability say. Silent goodbyes have already begun; this last attempt at reconciliation doomed to fail, because when a heart isn’t in it, the last thing you can lie to is a heart.

 

The needle lifts from the vinyl, the arm shifts and drops it back down, and the crest and crackle begins over once again. The whir of the vinyl turning blurs into the sound of the sea, as two bodies move together to fill the time until they must permanently part.

 

She thinks she hears a noise, lays her palm between his shoulder blades, whispers for him to still. He pauses, turns his head, listens, hears nothing. Rolls his hips again, an instant distraction for them both.

 

The second time he hears it; the scratch against the window, the dull thud of the door. A soft wail has them stopping, looking at one another with wild eyes, straining to hear it yet again.

 

The third time the wail feels closer yet simultaneously far away, but it is accompanied by a sense of being observed that clings to their skin like the cold sea air. He shifts, rolls beside her, unconsciously takes her hand.

 

By the time they stand, bared in every way imaginable, their hearts beat in a sync they haven’t found in months. Pulsing, rapid, fearful, as the vinyl crests and falls, mimicking the waves beyond their window. The wail is louder yet untraceable, stepping up behind them to suggest a whisper in an ear before spinning away again.

 

Too terrified to move, they cling and shiver into one another, teeth chattering and skin dimpling against the blast of coldness swirling through the air around them. One final, piercing solitary wail, and it becomes a symphony of three.

 

Two bodies slump together, a tangle of limp, lifeless limbs, blood mingling as it wicks up in the carpet. There is silence in the air now, calm contrasting cruelly with the linger of screaming.

 

The vinyl squeaks to an abrupt cease, the needle hovering in mid air held up as though by an unseen hand. Drops down again. The turntable comes to life once more, filling the air with the crest and crackle of the vinyl as it spins.

 

_Somewhere beyond the sea… somewhere waiting for me… my lover stands on golden sands… and watches the ships that go sailin'..._

 

***

 

“What’s that for? You sick or something?”

 

At Dean’s words, Sam tilted back his head a little more and took a bigger swallow, smacking his lips together stickily then screwing the cap back on and slotting the bottle back into the cupboard next to him.

 

“Nope,”

 

“Then why you downing half a bottle of cough syrup ‘fore we set off, huh?”

 

“Shoulda said if you wanted me to drive,” Sam shrugged, all but turning his back to him and making Dean’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

 

“Spill,”

 

“What?”

 

“C’mon, spill,” And with an unmissable grumble to his voice Dean outpaced Sam to come to an abrupt halt in front of him, effectively blocking his way out of the kitchen.

 

For a moment Dean thought Sam was going to sidestep him and walk away without answering. He watched the rise and fall of his shoulders, the way his lips pinched into an uncomfortable scowl, and was just about to call him out on it when those shoulders slumped with the heavy weight of an accompanying sigh.

 

“It’s gonna be what, an eighteen hour drive to get there?”

 

“Yeah, but you know… I was sorta planning on stopping and us changing out along the way,” Dean replied, still tense because he knew Sam would trade for driving if he asked him to, didn’t even question the idea, so something else was clearly going on with him. “‘Less you wanna stop somewhere-”

 

“No,” Sam shook his head rapidly, his eyes rounding a touch wider. “No, let’s just get there, okay? I’ll… I’ll sleep for a bit then… then when we stop to eat we’ll trade. Okay?”

 

“If you’re sick I can get Cas to-”

 

“Last time you let Cas drive you lectured the guy for an entire hour about changing lanes,”

 

The linger of tension that had been threatening since the beginning of their conversation set in hard then, stiffening the air between them.

 

Indignant, Dean squared up, scowled a little harder. “Yeah well if he’s gonna pull out into traffic-”

 

“Dean,” Sam’s tone revealed how very hard he was trying to be reasonable, which made Dean’s muted anger rage a little hotter. “He is - was - who knows, _still_ is… an angel. I think he’s more than capable of knowing how to handle a car,”

 

“Yeah well, he shoulda checked. He almost-”

 

“He didn’t almost _anything_ , Dean,” Sam’s voice pitched right at the end of his retort, gripped with exasperation as he balled his fists tightly down by his sides.

 

“Fine,” Dean bit back, a heavy slap of his palms against his thighs. “I’ll get him to drive if I need it, I-”

 

“He was on the couch again this morning,”

 

The air around Dean felt suddenly choking, prodding at him angrily and making him want to gag and turn away. Sam watched, his shoulders sagging once again at witnessing Dean’s obvious tensing up at his words.

 

“When I came through to go running, he was on the couch. Half under a blanket, half curled into himself. Looking like he’d only just fallen asleep,” Sam continued, eyeing Dean for any further kind of reaction.

 

“Yeah, well,” Dean shifted, uncomfortable under such attention, “He didn’t wanna stay in bed, so-”

 

“More like you were fighting,”

 

“We-”

 

“ _Again_ ,”

 

Sam lengthened and exaggerated the word, turning it in Dean’s gut like a sharpened spike. Dean grit his teeth, forced back a handful of unpleasant rebuttals before he allowed himself to answer, determined not to take out on Sam what he couldn’t share with him. “Look. We just… we got some things to work out between us ‘s all,”

 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed with a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, I’d say you do.”

 

“Sam-”

 

“You guys. After- after everything it took you to actually work shit about between you, and now, what? It’s not living up to your expectations or something? Not turning out the way you planned?”

 

“I didn’t _plan_ -”

 

“I _know_ you didn’t,” Sam countered, and for the first time in the conversation his eyes flashed with the true anger he himself was feeling. “You don’t _plan_ anything, Dean. You lash out, act first, think later, you-”

 

“Way to be on my side, Sammy,” Dean shook his head, then began nodding to himself in acceptance, because of course Sam would recognise he was at fault for what was going on. Of course the reminder he was so very alone in this would hurt, but as always Dean was sure he had no one to blame but himself.

 

“I’m on your side when you’re not being a dick about stuff,” Sam answered, his voice a little more uncertain and a touch softer, something sounding a lot like doubt registering for a second that Dean instantly bristled against.

 

“Hey,” Dean said, whirling half around again furiously and jabbing his finger in the direction of the doorway, “It takes _two_ to argue, okay? Stop making out like he’s some kinda saint in this-”

 

“I never said that-”

 

“You just-”

 

“I never said that,” Sam repeated, slowly shaking his head. “But you guys… I… I don’t know what the problem is between you, okay? You won’t tell me why you’re constantly _bickering_ , you bite my head off if I dare so much as ask how you're doing… and I sure as hell know there’s been a whole lotta making up going on around here on and off lately. Getting pretty hard to keep up,”

 

Dean flinched at Sam’s initial words, though for a second welcomed the little flash of Sam’s teasing over his anger.

 

“You two are _good_ together, you know that, right?” Sam tried then, and Dean could see the effort it was taking him to keep it gentle when clearly he was saying something he felt was so very obvious it shouldn't even need acknowledging.

 

Dean sagged, feeling suddenly so tired after yet another night staring up at the ceiling alone that he wanted to crawl back into bed, preferably with Cas, pull the duvet up over them and block out the world, forget anything that was going on around them.

 

“Yeah, I do,” because why deny the truth? Dean thought they were pretty good together too; the best even. Which, he laughed to himself, went to show just what a fool he actually was.

 

“So… so you need to figure things out. This.... this’s been going on for _weeks_ now. _Weeks_ of me walking out here in the morning to find him on the couch, or you guys keeping me awake arguing when we’re stuck in a motel room together, or- or all of it, okay? It’s too much. It’s too much when it was… when you looked so _happy_ ,”

 

Dean shifted, swallowed awkwardly, felt a trickle of remorse for what Sam must be going through having to witness he and Cas and the way they were behaving, though he wouldn’t allow even a second of sorrow for himself.

 

“We will. We’ll fix this, okay?” And Dean couldn’t honestly say in that moment if he was attempting to reassure Sam or himself.

 

“He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. You know that, right?”

 

Sam’s words slashed at Dean again, wounding him with a truth that he already knew, already berated himself for ever having taking for granted.

 

“I do,”

 

“So… so do that then. Figure it out,”

 

For a moment the Sam standing before him shifted into a version so many years younger, pleading with Dean not to fight with their dad, not to square off at the bullies in their temporary school that had laughed at their torn jeans and scuffed sneakers. And all the guilt in the world came to hit Dean squarely in the chest, making bile rise up in his throat and him have to swallow several times to chase away the taste.

 

“We will,” he said again, repeating it to himself over and over as though a mantra would make it a reality, _we will, we will, we_ will...

 

“Okay then,” Sam nodded, shallow with a grimness setting in along his jaw. “We should get going,”

 

“Sam,”

 

Sam stiffened having already started to walk away from Dean, and looked half back over his shoulder as though a full turn back around was far too much effort.

 

“What?”

 

“What- what’s with the cough syrup, man?”

 

An audible sigh, and Dean watched Sam’s head drop forward for a moment before he straightened up, cast another half look behind him, and replied tiredly with, “I don’t wanna hear you sniping at each other the entire way like last time, okay? Like every time lately. Figured I’d get some sleep in. Might make it easier to deal with you two griping at each other when it’s my turn to drive,”

 

Dean watched in silence as Sam walked away leaving him to stand there alone, go over his and Cas’ latest argument, and try to work out when things that had been so honestly incredible once had started to go so very wrong.

 

***

 

The drive down from the bunker to Sandbridge was uneventful, with Dean adamantly driving for twelve hours straight before a mumbled request from the back seat asked for Dean to _please take a rest_. There had been one other moment of solidarity between them during the trip; whilst sat in a diner as they tried to figure out how to approach the case they were heading to, Sam had snorted sarcastically at the suggestion of Dean and Cas posing as a couple to rent one of the beach houses they were investigating.

 

“Yeah, right, like anyone’d believe _that_ right now,” He’d sneered. Cas had glared at him across the table, the gentleness with which he silently slid his fingers across the gap between he and Dean and slotted them through his own contrasting starkly with the scowl on his face aimed at Sam.

 

Dean had even returned from the bathroom to the tail-end of a lecture from Cas that finished with him telling Sam, “I love your brother very much. Do not doubt that,” which had gone a little way to easing the ache in his heart.

 

But now, as he sat perched on the short wall outside the realtor office Sam was in, watching Cas standing awkward a few feet away and casting an unseeing gaze over the street in front of them, Dean felt lost all over again, clueless about what to do that might help.

 

Not so long ago, they would have stood waiting together in a situation like this, and they would not have been able to keep their hands off of each other, or at least their eyes if discretion was needed in whatever place they were in. Instead the distance was cavernous between them, and nothing in Dean’s history gave him any way to find his way across.

 

A rattle of keys announced Sam’s return; the three of them trooped back to the car, with Dean and Cas having only gotten out in the first place to get some air and stretch some life back into their legs.

 

“Got a real bargain for our not-hard earned money,” Sam announced gleefully as the three of them slid into their seats. “Realtor said no one had rented the place in three months. Says rumours travel fast about a place - even a vacation home, apparently,”

 

Dean met Sam’s eye across the seats, waited as Sam nodded before continuing.

 

“She said it’s just ghost stories. Local folks gossiping and all. Talk of haunted howling into the night, flickering lights, music playing-”

 

“Music?” Dean asked, raising a dubious eyebrow.

 

“‘Parently, yeah.”

 

“What kind?”

 

Sam shrugged, turning his gaze back out to the road ahead of them. “Didn’t ask for a playlist. Says the cleaner who found the bodies told police she heard music playing upstairs, and no one’s been back since. And even before the last rental that ended in this case, well, most of the cleaners refused to go in there at all, saying it was ‘too creepy’ - same goes for our house actually,”

 

“And nothing’s even really _happened_ in this place, right? Our place? It’s the one next door we’re looking at, yeah?”

 

Dean glanced across again to see Sam shrugging and grimaced to himself, clutching the wheel a little tighter. “Really selling this idea, Sammy,”

 

“That’s the thing- they _can’t_ sell it- the house. Either of them. They’ve arranged viewings, had offers made, but every single one’s fallen through. The realtor knocked another chunk off our fee ‘cos the house hasn’t been inspected in a while. They didn’t really see the point if no one's showing any interest,”

 

“Great,” Dean frowned, his back aching from being in the car for so long and crying out for a half-comfortable bed to lay down on. “We’re basically walking into a house that’s gonna fall down ‘round our ears or what?”

 

“She said when we called earlier to book the place – which now sounds kind of pointless, we coulda just walked straight in and taken our pick - she went down herself, gave it the once over, switched the power on. It’s still standing at least. She said she apologises if it’s dusty in places. I told her it’d add to the authenticity of the place,”

 

“Huh?” Dean glanced away from the road again to Sam, looking for an explanation.

 

Sam snorted, shaking his head. “Said the reason we were interested in the place was that we were writing a book on haunted houses. ‘Ts another reason we got it so cheap,”

 

“And half ‘cos no other sucker wants anywhere near it, right?” though Dean did raise an eyebrow at the cover Sam had given them.

 

“Right,” Sam agreed with a pinched smile, not seeing the doubtful look on Dean's face. “She said they’ve got six beach houses on their books in total, the other four are doing okay but in these two, the interest’s just disappearing. Thinks if they could sell all of ‘em they’d do it in a heartbeat, but…”

 

“But no one wants them,”

 

“No one wants them,”

 

“I do not suppose the recurring murders are doing anything to help attract potential guests,”

 

Cas’ voice finally contributed to the conversation from the back seat sounding little but bored.

 

“Guess not,” Dean agreed, with a careful smile to him in the rearview mirror. “Who wants to stay in a place where guests keep being murdered next door, huh?”

 

“Us, it would seem,” Cas stared back at him, the corners of his mouth turning up in the smallest of smiles; the clench in Dean’s chest easing a fraction for seeing it.

 

“Right,” Sam nodded, tapping at a wad of paperwork on his knee. “We’ll be literally next door so can go take a look whenever, since there's no one around. It was cordoned off by the police at the time but apparently the tape just got taken down the second they left so…”

 

“So essentially we can come and go as we want,” Dean finished for him, hoping this was going to be a straightforward salt and burn and nothing more sinister or complicated than that. He wanted to be gone, to have the hunt over with, to be back in the bunker, perhaps suggesting he and Cas went away for a bit just the two of them. To try and _figure things out_ as Sam had put it.

 

“Yeah, essentially,”

 

“This realtor say anything herself about when she visited? Like… I don’t know… she see anything unusual?”

 

Sam shrugged again, his fingers tapping idly against his knee watching the streets rush by the window. “Said it felt cold,”

 

***

 

Dean pulled the Impala into a parking spot outside a small row of shops and sat back with a sigh. One more stop and they’d be there and he- _they_ , could all rest. Glancing out of the window to see what was on offer he nodded to himself, reaching out and clamping a light hand around Sam’s shoulder.

 

“You head in there,” he nodded when he had Sam’s attention in the direction of a butcher’s, “Go get us some… chicken? Beef?”

 

The question was aimed at Cas through the rearview mirror; Cas wrinkled his nose before announcing he wanted chicken.

 

“‘K. So. Get some chicken, me and Cas’ll go in that grocery store and pick up some stuff. Meet you back here in a few?”

 

Sam was up and out of the car in seconds, leaving Dean to watch after him with a silent apology for the awkward atmosphere in the car.

 

“Come with?” He said again without turning, waiting for Cas’ nod and shifting to get out as soon as Cas did.

 

The moment Dean closed his door he reached out to wrap his fingers around Cas’ arm, then shifted to press him bodily back against the car. He raised his hands, cupping his face, leaning his full weight on him as he ducked in for a long, apologetic kiss that at first was received stiffly then eventually Cas melted into, reaching out hesitantly before wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pulling him a fraction closer.

 

“Please sleep with me tonight,” The thought of another night in an empty bed had Dean’s arms drop and tighten around Cas’ shoulders in vulnerability. As though that wasn’t enough, he pulled back just barely so he could look Cas in the eye, his whole body aching with longing as he whispered a quiet, “Please,”

 

Cas stared back at him long enough for Dean’s heart to being thrumming in concern that he'd still say no, before he gave the tiniest of nods and muttered a soft, “Of course,”

 

Dean breathed out hard in relief, not attempting to hide it, dropped his hands to wrap around Cas’ jaw again and drew him back into a kiss before dropping his forehead against Cas’. They held each other for a few moments, Cas’ calmness washing through Dean enough to settle him a touch. Then he stepped back, extended his hand for Cas’ to take, and led him across the street and into the grocery store.

 

***

 

For a beach house that hadn’t been occupied in a while, Dean thought, taking in the simple wooden floorboards and neutral furnishings, it was in pretty good condition. The kitchen surfaces he skimmed his hand over were clean, the appliances no more than a couple of years old, and when he looked out to the small terrace he could see the decking there had not that long ago been updated.

 

Floor to ceiling windows provided an unbroken view over the terrace and out to the sea, and Dean found himself walking closer to look, resting his hand against the window frame and staring out, losing himself in what was in front of him and abandoning their groceries that he’d been in the middle of putting away.

 

“Quite a view, huh?”

 

Dean glanced over his shoulder to see Sam in the kitchen unpacking the rest of their shopping and offered up yet the latest in a string of silent apologies in his direction.

 

“Yeah,”

 

“Cas picked the room with the balcony for you guys,” Sam added, coming to stand behind him and extending out his hand to pass Dean a beer.

 

“Your room okay?” Dean asked, turning to clink their beers together then again back to the window.

 

“Yeah, good view there too. And it’s out the way,”

 

Dean clenched his jaw at Sam’s suggestion, half-longing for the days when it had been his way of teasing him about their level of noise. Now, it was a simple fact; Sam was putting himself out of their way in the hope that they’d talk, spend time together, put the brakes on this downward spiral that was _them_ of late - and to just avoid their arguments if they couldn’t.

 

“I'm... sorry about earlier,”

 

Dean turned just enough so that Sam would see his raised eyebrow, watched Sam hang his head a little guiltily.

 

“I didn't mean... I don't want you to think I'm not on your side. 'cos I am – I always will be. I just... you two... I was so unbelievably happy for you guys when you got together and... and I'd hate for you to throw it away just because-”

 

“'cos I'm a pig-headed bastard?” Dean finished wryly, comfort settling in his chest though despite his reaction, relieved to see Sam dropping his anger at him.

 

“I didn't say that-”

 

“'s fine, Sammy. Nothing more than I deserve 'm sure,”

 

Eyes back out to the sea watching the roll of the waves, imagining the feel of the water splashing up over his feet; Dean could indulge in simple pleasures to distract himself if he wanted to, even if they were only imaginary ones.

 

“Go talk to him,”

 

The softness in Sam’s voice was painful and brought Dean instantly back; Dean closed his eyes to it but nodded, walking back over to the kitchen to open another beer then heading up the stairs. The treads creaked in a reassuring, homely way as he climbed them, and as he did Dean wondered for a moment where to even look for Cas since he’d not been upstairs himself yet. Would Cas even welcome seeing him so soon if he'd disappeared out of sight so quickly on their arrival?

 

A sigh to himself that Dean adamantly refused to hear as self-pitying, at the top of the stairs he took a left on a whim and walked until he found himself in a light, airy room with the balcony doors wide open and Cas’ back to him as he leaned up against the railing.

 

As Dean approached his stomach clenched, partly for the realisation that Cas was mirroring his own actions downstairs, partly for fear of what they would or wouldn’t say to each other. Partly because he wanted to fix this but just didn’t know _how_.

 

Bracing himself Dean stepped out on to the balcony, slid one hand around Cas’ waist to rest on his stomach and the other extended in front of him with Cas’ bottle jutting out for him to take. Cas didn’t flinch at his touch, and Dean was thankful for that at least, but not for his slowness in dropping his own hand down to cover Dean’s.

 

“Kinda late now, but… maybe tomorrow we can make some time and go for a walk?” Dean muttered into Cas’ shoulder, pressing a kiss there and squeezing a little against his stomach.

 

“The beach is beautiful,” Cas replied, his tone neutral; Dean fought not to read into it, closed his eyes and dropped his chin down on Cas’ shoulder, looking out at the sea with him.

 

“Hey, maybe we can sit out on the terrace and eat tonight?” Dean suggested when the silence between them stretched out awkwardly and no beautiful view could help make it any better.

 

“Mm,” Cas mumbled, taking a swig of his beer, “I am quite hungry,”

 

“Why didn’t you say?” Dean asked, his voice raising distraught at the thought of Cas going hungry in silence. He dropped a kiss on Cas’ neck, nuzzling there, closing his eyes as Cas pressed back against it with a pleased hum. “I’ll go start-”

 

Cas stopped him abruptly by turning in his arms and demanding a kiss, nudging Dean’s lips apart with his own to deepen it. Dean matched him immediately, one hand up to cradle the back of his head and the other with the beer extended out hooked over his shoulder.

 

“I love you, Dean,”

 

Dean’s body sagged in temporarily relief at Cas’ words mumbled against his mouth, ducking to kiss a path up his neck before claiming his lips once more.

 

“And you know I love you back. So much,”

 

Dean swallowed back the lump in his throat and smiled, taking in the way Cas’ eyes flitted over his own watery ones and silently prayed for understanding, if he couldn’t ask for anything else from him.

 

Dean wanted to say about a million things at once. He wanted to close the door, tuck them away, pretend they were on some kind of beach vacation instead of about to work a case; just them, alone, happy and content as he’d once thought they’d been. He wanted to lead Cas through the house to the bathroom he’d seen in passing on the way to their room, climb into the huge bathtub in there with him and spend an hour or two beneath soft bubbles doing nothing but making out. He wanted to crawl between soft sheets, have Cas sink into him in the only way he’d ever felt really anchored to someone, fall asleep in his arms with the certainty that they would both be there tomorrow.

 

But that wasn’t what Cas wanted, Dean reminded himself, swallowing forcefully against the surge of tears he felt forming, immediately before cursing at himself for doing it. They were already on borrowed time, and he couldn’t waste a second of it being maudlin, or wishing things were different. He had to take every moment with Cas for what it was, try to savour each one of them because he had no way of knowing which would be the last, and instead of giving into his sorrow smiled as wide as his heartache would allow, threaded their fingers together and gently pulled Cas to follow him back through the house and downstairs.

 

***

 


	2. Chapter 2

“So what’ve we got,”

 

Dean clapped his hands together decisively, loud enough for it to echo across the beach house terrace and startle a seagull that had come to perch on the wooden railings.

 

Flicking back the cover on the file of information he’d collected for the case, Sam straightened up the paperwork and began to read out loud.

 

“So. News report said there was a suspicious death here around a week ago. The police report said a couple in their thirties,” Sam paused, checking the names, “Julie and Anthony Johnson, were found together in a pool of their own blood. Both their necks had been snapped, and their aortas had been severed by what appears to be a standard issue combat knife. No weapon was found at the scene though, and it looks like they died within seconds of each other. The shape of the wounds sort of rules out any kind of suicide 'cos it's gotta be near on impossible to stab yourself in the chest at the angle of the wound, but with no weapon, and interviews with friends and family saying they were ‘fiery’, seems the police are writing it off with the angle of a fight gone wrong or some… I don’t know, kind of suicide pact or something,”

 

Dean leaned across the table to slide one of the photos across in front of him and gritted his teeth at the grisly image in front of him.

 

“What about these?” He said, pointing to the obvious markings around the necks of both victims before looking back up at Sam.

 

“Apparently superficial and not contributing to cause of death,”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You know it looks like a hanging, right?”

 

“Right,” Sam agreed with a curt nod.

 

“So we’re looking at a vengeful ghost who was probably hanged, or hung themselves, one that's strong enough to stab someone?” Dean summarised, an absent finger tracing along the edge of the picture.

 

“That’s my guess,” Sam said with a sigh, leaning back in his seat and gesturing at the file again. “Look at this,”

 

Dean leaned over to where Sam was pointing, frowning as he read out from the police report.

 

“‘Station logs several calls to the house of Mr and Mrs Johnson from disgruntled/worried neighbours about their arguing, and proprietors from two local bars confirm asking them to leave on numerous occasions when their public fights got out of hand.’ Sound like a regular Heathcliff and Cathy, huh?”

 

Sam shrugged, still thumbing through some documents on his tablet.

 

“And you said there were how many others?” Dean asked absently as he reached out and flicked through the paper file; he’d half-read the initial news report over Sam’s shoulder and heard him talking about a local reporter writing an article about it being the latest in a series of ‘mysterious’ deaths, but hadn’t really thought about much else beyond hunting, about being active and keeping his mind busy. He hadn’t even questioned Sam’s decision to come straight here instead of going to the couple’s home town in Virginia to conduct any interviews themselves; if he was truthful, Dean thought to himself, he hadn’t given the case itself much of any thought whatsoever.

 

“Yeah. There was an ‘accidental’ electrocution about three months back. Realtor had all the electrics checked in all their properties here and it was put down to an accidental power surge,”

 

Dean looked up at the lighting above them a little dubiously then dropped his gaze back down slowly to the table. “Keep going,”

 

Sam leaned forward and flicked through the file, sliding pages silently in front of Dean. “Looks like a total of seven deaths. Four stabbings more or less identical to this one - these were the ones the local reporter mentioned, but he sounds like some kind of news hack looking for the next serial killer or something to make his name with; and he wouldn't answer my call earlier at all. Anyway, in addition to those I found this one electrocution and details of two fatal falls that police couldn’t determine if were suicides or not and were listed as accidental 'for the sake of the families'. The first stabbing was in 1995, and there’s been enough space in between all the deaths for people to just… forget I guess,”

 

Dean huffed, pushing back on his chair with a firm shake of his head. “How’d people just _forget_ something like that happening, huh?”

 

“These houses are vacation houses, it’s a small community. I guess… people’ll see what they wanna see, as always. They knew enough to stay away from here if what the realtor’s said is anything to go by, so, they've noticed _something_ at least,”

 

The house in question was only a couple of minutes on foot across the beach from where they sat; Dean lingered his focus over its outline in the moonlight and mentally went over their salt and iron supplies in the trunk of the car, chiding himself too late for not putting any effort into preparing beforehand.

 

“I don’t hear no music playing,” Dean said, as the thought occurred to him right then from Sam's earlier words outside the realtor's office, lifting his face in the soft breeze and breathing in the salty scent of the sea.

 

“Maybe you gotta be closer for that,”

 

“Thought you said the realtor was talking ‘bout _this_ place with the… the music, and- and howling and all that?”

 

Sam’s shrug showed he had no answer, his own eyes turning repeatedly back to the other house.

 

“Well,” Dean said, again decisively as he stood and gathered everything together in the file, “We’re here already. Might as well go take a look?”

 

***

 

Dean pressed a salt-loaded gun into Cas’ hand with a small smile and tangled their fingers together as the three of them turned and set off for the neighbouring house. Sam walked a couple of paces ahead with a flashlight shining their path; Dean thought to himself how often Sam did that now, took the opportunity to put a little distance between himself and them.

 

If that thought made him sad, his acknowledgement of just how quiet Cas had been over dinner was enough to make his heart race. Dean had sneaked looks at him throughout as he steadily worked his way through his plate, saying little to either of them aside from quietly thanking Dean for the meal.

 

Instinctively Dean squeezed Cas’ hand a little tighter as they walked, felt Cas’ gaze shift in his direction for a moment before turning to look straight ahead again, but didn’t feel him squeeze back. Dean tried not to let that bother him.

 

Stepping on to the porch Dean's initial thought was that the house didn’t look all that much different to their own current one. Some straggled pieces of police tape remained around a couple of the railing posts and fluttered in the evening breeze, but otherwise at least from the outside, the place was unblemished.

 

Dean watched as Sam pushed the door open and raised an eyebrow that it wasn’t locked, but stepped forward to follow him in, trying not to react to the quickness with which Cas dropped his hand and went through in front of him.

 

Inside the house looked oddly preserved, a snapshot of an abandoned vacation. The kitchen still had plates standing on the draining rack, two glasses and a now dried-out bottle of wine stood abandoned on the living room table. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, although the air crackled with a coldness that made their own place seem warm.

 

They trailed through the house, separating cautiously to explore, with both Sam and Dean turning quickly on their heels at Cas’ soft call. Coming to an abrupt halt outside the bedroom where Cas was stood, they both gestured for the other to go first before piling through the door at the same time, earning them a disdainful glance from Cas.

 

Once across the room all three of them looked down at the carpet, taking in the rude intrusion of a seeped bloodstain on a once pale coloured carpet. From the pattern it was easy to imagine the way the bodies had fallen and slumped together; Dean wondered if they’d held each other in their final moments in fear, or they'd been so lost in each other they hadn't noticed what was about to happen. He silently hoped for the latter for them.

 

Glancing around the room Dean gave a low whistle; carefully decorated and well-furnished, the room was huge, more like a small apartment in its own right than a mere bedroom. He imagined the couple checking it out, stray fingers over curtains, opening cupboard doors to peek inside; his eyes fell on a low shelf in a multi unit and it instantly drew him across the room.

 

“Hey look,”

 

Dean’s own fingers ghosted over the vinyl player, pristine in its wooden casing as though it had been regularly polished with careful, loving attention. A vinyl sat on the turntable as though waiting to be played; Dean resisted the urge to switch it on, instead leaning down to inspect the songs on the label with a soft smile of recognition.

 

“Tell me this isn’t the thing that’s haunted and we gotta burn it,” he protested, hearing Sam’s huff of laughter behind him.

 

“Guess we found out where the music was coming from, huh?” Sam offered, widening Dean’s smile a touch.

 

“Maybe our ghost here’s just got good taste in music,” Dean suggested, turning back again.

 

“Tell me you’re not coveting Physical Graffiti over there,” Sam laughed, catching Dean’s smile as he turned back around and seeming happier for it.

 

“Nah, not _that_ good a taste. Still,” Dean looked wistfully over his shoulder back at the turntable and gave a barely there sigh.

 

“So. We find whatever’s keeping our ghost here, get rid, and that’ll be the end of it,” Sam pushed on, taking his own turn about the room with interest lifting his eyes.

 

“Guess so. Salt and burn, piece of cake; just like you said,”

 

“Once we find out what it is,”

 

“Once we find out what it is,” Dean echoed, coming to stand beside Cas, slotting his fingers through Cas’ and instantly reaching out to curl Cas’ fingers into his own palm, wrapping his fist around Cas' briefly then frowning as he pulled Cas’ hand up to cradle between his hands, blowing on his fingers to warm them up. “Man, your hand's like ice,”

 

“I am very cold,”

 

The tonelessness of Cas’ voice had both Sam and Dean snapping a look at him in alarm; Dean reached out his free hand to cup his face and frowned harder still on finding his skin clammy.

 

“Alright. Let’s head back; think you’re coming down with something,”

 

“It is likely just the ghost altering the temperature of the room,” Cas muttered, closing his eyes and looking exhausted, leaning into the warmth of Dean’s palm as though to leach the heat from there.

 

“Yeah.” Dean laughed without humour, tugging lightly on his hand to pull him towards the doorway. “Not doing anything to me and Sam though, is it? So maybe you’re coming down with something,”

 

Dean thought of Cas storming out of their bedroom and driving off into the night a few days back, cursing under his breath that he’d gone out without a jacket and probably caught himself a cold.

 

“I am fine,”

 

Deciding not to argue Dean shot Sam a look; Sam followed them out with a final sweep of the room, down and through the house, across the porch and back on to the sand. A few feet away from the house and Cas was doubled over and wheezing; Dean’s heart surged in panic as he pressed a hand to Cas’ back and leaned down part of the way with him to check his face.

 

“Cas. Cas, you okay? Talk to me,”

 

Cas’ eyes were screwed up tight as he tried to gain control over his breathing. A couple of stumbled steps forward and it was as though nothing had happened; Cas stood straight, cleared his throat, the only sign that anything had been amiss was a slight sheen of sweat to his cheeks and forehead.

 

“Let’s get you inside anyway, huh?” Dean mumbled at Cas' soft protests of being _fine now, Dean_ , stepping closer to him and pressing a hand against his forehead once more. Cas turned to him for a moment then gave a short nod, allowing Dean to thread their fingers together again and lead the way back to their beach house.

 

***

 

“You having a human kinda day today, huh, Cas?”

 

Dean watched Cas wolfing down the sandwich he’d just fixed him in little more than three bites and shifted uncomfortably on the spot, told himself it was unnecessary to be concerned. Cas slowed his chewing, swallowed hard, lifted his eyes to look up at Dean in slow consideration.

 

“I am more human than angel currently it would seem,” came Cas’ cautious reply; Dean tried not to show any change of emotion but a sense of unknown fear coursed through him regardless.

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Yes,”

 

“How’d you figure that?”

 

Precise dabs lifted the final crumbs from his plate, giving Cas the time to consider his reply.

 

“My appetite is human, I need to sleep, I cannot fly nor hear ‘angel radio’. I can do little more than heal,”

 

Cas’ voice was mournful; a desperate wish to be able to fix that rushed through Dean then leaving him feeling utterly useless.

 

“That don’t sound _so_ bad, Cas,” Dean tried, keeping his voice as soft and unprovoking as he could.

 

“No, it is not ‘bad’,” Cas agreed, though frowning with disagreement as he said it.

 

“So you’re not sick,” Dean pressed, fingers twitching to reach out and check his temperature once again.

 

“No. I am not sick,”

 

“Then why’d… why’d the house affect you and not us?”

 

Dean and Cas looked up at Sam's question as he entered the kitchen, watching as he snagged up some chips from an open bag on the counter as well as a handful of grapes.

 

“I presume it is something to do with my being an angel, and you, not,”

 

“But you just said. You’re like… more human right now. Right?” Failing to keep the panic from his voice, Dean fought once again to at least keep his expression neutral. Cas’ eyes slid back to him and the expression there caught Dean’s breath, keeping him unable to move for several seconds until Cas’ gaze dropped away again.

 

“Yes. Although I assume I am still somewhat _different_ to you both,”

 

“Like… operating on a different frequency?” Sam suggested, leaning back against the counter and reaching out to snag up another handful of grapes.

 

“I assume that is an accurate enough assessment, yes,”

 

“Well. Don’t know about you guys but… I’m ‘bout ready for bed,” Hoping to delay any conversation that might spiral Cas into another bout of deep thinking, Dean gave an exaggerated stretch and swallowed in discomfort as Cas’ eyes lingered over him with heat behind them, telling himself he could take it as a good sign.

 

A controlled nod and Cas headed towards the door, calling a mumbled _goodnight_ to Sam as he left and leaving Dean to look at Sam himself, extend out his hands and shrug, barely hiding his own sense of worry; what was he supposed to say that would take away the concern on Sam’s face when he couldn’t even force away his own?

 

Dean climbed the stairs seconds behind Cas, hand stroking along the smooth polished surface of the banister as he kept his eyes firmly on the centre of Cas’ back. He continued watching as Cas pushed their bedroom door open, began unbuttoning his shirt - _Dean’s_ shirt technically since their wardrobe had blended into an interchangeable mix since even before they’d got together - and threw it over a chair where its cuffs brushed against the floor in an abandoned kind of dangle.

 

A graceful shirking off of his boots, a nimble bend to remove socks, the sound of a belt buckle being slid open; Cas turned to face Dean as he pushed down his jeans and threw them to the side as carelessly as the shirt.

 

“Will you join me for a shower?”

 

The oddness in his tone had Dean striding across the room, wrapping his arms around Cas’ middle and pressing his forehead down on his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the way his throat was tightening up in panic all over again. He pressed a kiss in place of his forehead and slid his hands away, stumbling at the suddenness of Cas slotting their fingers together and leading him across to the bathroom.

 

A quick bend to start the shower, a smooth spin to turn back around; Cas reached for Dean, undressing him with meticulous focus, their eyes locked and every movement Dean unable to not interpret as one of being savoured, as though it was a last. Dean surged forward, catching Cas’ lips in an urgent kiss, pouring into it everything he was feeling and everything he wished Cas still wanted from him.

 

Cas responded with a split second of pause, huffing out softly when their bare chests made contact, shoving Dean’s jeans and boxers down in what Dean told himself was a very vital need for them to both be naked and together. Cas backed into the shower, closing his eyes as the warm water sluiced over his skin and shuddering in relief, extending a hand to pull Dean in with him and immediately spinning him to press back against the wall.

 

An insistent grinding had them stirring to hardness; Cas dropped to his knees without ceremony and took Dean into his mouth, making Dean’s head thunk back against the wall tiles at the suddenness of it, his fingers twitching with the urge to grip through Cas’ hair. One particular swirl of Cas’ tongue over his slit and those fingers did reach out; Cas hummed in approval at the contact and shuffled a little closer.

 

Cas knelt before him with his eyes closed both in concentration and against the shower spraying down on them both, his hands lightly gripping Dean’s hips as he bobbed up and down on his cock; Cas' mouth stretched and taut around his length was a sight Dean hadn’t been expecting this evening, and Dean drank it in as though he too was committing something to memory that he needed to keep a precise visual record of because it would soon be gone.

 

He let out a gasp; Cas slowed at the sound, no doubt hearing the anguish underwriting it, suckling briefly on his head before rising fluidly to his feet, eyes never leaving Dean’s. The stare threatened to tip Dean over the edge and into crying, but just when he was sure he wouldn’t be able to hold back what he was feeling Cas leaning in for the sweetest of kisses, slotting a hand between them to wrap around them both.

 

Dean moaned at the contact, opening up the kiss a little and reaching out with the intention to slot his fingers between Cas’, but Cas beat him to it, instead curling their free hands together down by their sides as he worked them in that slow and steady way of his that had Dean’s toes curling up tightly against the smoothness of the slicked up shower floor.

 

Dean told himself that it was less painful to close his eyes, to delve into the kiss, rather than to stare back at the blank expression on Cas’ face, fearing that what he’d see there was that Cas was just going through the motions, that he didn’t really want this, despite the way his body was clearly reacting to him. The shower became a sanctuary behind which he could hide; tears steadily pricked and fell from his eyes, washed away in a steady stream that if Cas could feel hitting his own cheeks meant it went without comment.

 

Their gasps and muted groans echoed out in the shower, a rutting of hips and a squeezing of fingers and that steady building of heat and tightness in his gut that Dean tried and failed not to fear was yet another in a series of _lasts_ ; how could he ever have these feelings again, the way Cas felt pressed up tightly against him in the grip of his fingers, chest to chest, hip to hip, kissing with a sense of urgent finality. How would he ever experience that with anyone else? Why would he ever want to, when there was not one person on the entire planet who would ever be able to replace Cas in any way, even for a fleeting second?

 

Another stroke, another roll of pressure; Cas’ name slipped in longing from Dean’s lips as he stumbled, coming in a hard wave that Cas followed seconds later with a drop of his forehead into the crook of Dean’s neck. A few seconds of breathlessness then Cas was stepping back, his heat slipping away from Dean leaving him chattering against more than just the sudden rush of cold.

 

With careful tenderness Cas began washing Dean, his fingers seeming to stroke over every stretch of his skin, a look of awe and wonder that reminded Dean of the first time Cas had done this for him and still trying to work out why Cas felt it was such an important thing to do.

 

By the time Cas had switched off the shower and was gently drying him down, Dean had stopped even attempting to hide the tears sliding down his face. Cas avoided looking at them, however, seeming to take extra care that every part of him was free of moisture except for those tears, then swiftly dried himself off and turned away, the snicking sound of him unzipping his toiletry bag bringing Dean crashing back to himself.

 

Dean mirrored Cas’ efforts, brushing his own teeth with their elbows barely a touch apart as they silently stared each other down in the mirror. They turned off their separate faucets in sync, spun away to dry their faces and silently left the bathroom, shivering as they crossed the room and quickly slid beneath the sheets.

 

Thankful that there was no hesitation from Cas about wrapping himself around him from behind, Dean allowed himself to sink into the feeling of him settling a hand against his stomach and tucking his knees in behind his as Cas had done so many times before. An absent kiss to his shoulder had Dean closing his eyes, willing himself not to let tears escape afresh. A mumbled _goodnight_ into the base of his neck where a soft blast of breath ghosted and Dean gripped his fingers through Cas’, unable to get rid of the image of himself as a shackle keeping Cas from where he wanted to be.

 

Evened out breathing, a stir of settling; Dean opened his eyes again and listened as Cas dropped off to sleep, his own body too rigid against Cas’ relaxed flesh behind him but unable to do anything to drop the tension keeping him awake. A stare out across the room, vague shadows from the outlines of furniture in the faint trickle of moonlight into the room and Dean watched them shifting as the night progressed.

 

His heart heavy and his body tired, Dean finally found himself begin to sink into sleepiness, and somewhere between his waking awareness and unconscious thoughts, he would swear he could barely make out the soft strain of a vinyl turning on a turntable in the distance.

 

_Somewhere beyond the sea… somewhere waiting for me… my lover stands on golden sands… and watches the ships that go sailin'..._

 

***

 


	3. Chapter 3

Crashing waves. Screeching gulls. The brightness of sunlight harsh against his eyelids on waking as Dean stretched, grumbled to himself and rolled over on to his back. A couple of seconds to reach wistfully across the empty bed and Dean’s heart was hammering him awake, having him scramble to his feet and tripping as he ran to the bathroom to pick up his discarded jeans and stumble in his hurry to get them on.

 

Dean threw himself out of the room, his footfall clunking on the stairs as he flew down them, eyes frantically searching about for signs of life as he ran. He turned a corner and fell forward to prop himself up with his hands just above his knees, doubled over in relief at the sight of Cas in the kitchen.

 

Closing the gap between them in rapid paces Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist and pressed up bodily against him, knowing Cas would feel his heart beating against his shoulder blade and not caring, dropping relieved kisses down the length of his neck.

 

To Cas’ credit he neither stiffened nor paused from the eggs he was frying, just covered Dean’s hand with his free one for a couple of seconds before nudging him back so he had room to slide the eggs on to the waiting plates already loaded with bacon.

 

“I was going to bring ours up to our room and leave Sam’s here,” Cas began telling him; the second the pan was out of his hand Dean was pressing on Cas’ arm, turning him to lean back against the counter, and kissing him as though they hadn’t seen each other in months.

 

Cas responded easily, wrapping his arms securely around Dean’s waist and angling himself for every duck and shift of his jaw. His eyes flickered shut as Dean thread his fingers up to cradle the back of his head, his other hand stroking a gentle swirl against his cheek with his thumb.

 

When Dean could finally pull himself away it was only to lean back to look at Cas' face, searching all over it for _something_ without even knowing what. Cas watched him as he stared, unmoving, without any expression to guide him, until gentleness seeped in and he opened his mouth hesitantly, attempting to speak.

 

“Dean, I don’t want-”

 

But Dean cut him off again, kissing him more insistently and pressing ever closer despite there already being no gap between them.

 

“Gross, Dean. Stick a shirt on at least ‘fore you start defiling the kitchen, would you?”

 

Sam’s breathless though teasing interruption did little to slow Dean down, though he did feel self conscious with Sam’s no doubt impressive post-running physique stood silently judging behind him as he himself fought the urge to suck in his stomach and berate himself for not putting in any such kind of effort for Cas.

 

Dean stepped back just enough to catch Cas’ glare at Sam over his shoulder and hear Sam shuffling away from them with a snort of laughter as he took the stairs two at a time.

 

“Wanna eat here now I’m down?” Dean asked, forcing a smile on his face and just about making eye contact.

 

“Okay,” Cas replied easily, his hands sliding over Dean’s side as he pulled away, turning to pour them both cups of coffee.

 

“I’ll just go grab a shirt-”

 

“No,”

 

Cups clattering against the kitchen counter were followed by fingers reaching out to slip through belt loops and pull Dean forward hard until he was chest to chest with Cas once again. Dean braced his hand around the counter at the force of it and looked back at him doubtfully, not sure what the sudden outburst was about.

 

“No,” Cas repeated, adamant and with a slow shake of his head. “Unless you are cold, no, Dean. You are perfect as you are,”

 

Forcing himself to look again, Dean slid his gaze until his eyes were on Cas’, startling a little at the intensity there and feeling so very self conscious and exposed. Cas stared him down, tilted his chin, angled up for a long, reassuring kiss that had Dean sagging and all but curling over him before he felt Cas’ lips curl against his and a hand stroking appreciatively up and down his back.

 

“Let’s eat,”

 

Before Dean could allow himself to agree with Cas he had to wrap his arms hard around him one more time, gather him close and breath him in for a few seconds, before releasing him and pasting on a smile.

 

***

 

“So taking into account unseasonably bad weather and economic dips, what’s your guess for how many rentals there’ve been in the house since 1995?”

 

Dean slipped down into the seat beside Sam at the laptop, fingers curling around his coffee mug for warmth despite the brightness of the sun outside, and he took a moment to consider Sam's question.

 

“Dunno. Like… ten… fifteen a year?”

 

With a nod at the screen before he turned it for Dean to look at, Sam smiled. “Decent guess. Looks like an average of around ten bookings a year since they only ever opened the house up over the summer, May through August,”

 

“Ten a year. Including the vics?” Dean asked, working out a rough total in his head.

 

“Yeah. Getting on for three hundred bookings since they first put the house up for rental. But since that first death there's been a hundred and ninety two bookings. Well- from the beginning of 1995 there has been, anyway,”

 

Dean drew the laptop towards him clicking out the tabs on the Excel document to freeze the panes before scrolling down slowly and scrutinising the dates. “So there’s no like… pattern to these deaths. Not every like… four years or something helpful like that,”

 

“Nope,” Sam confirmed, watching Dean click through and sort the data again and again, looking for other patterns. “These guys all came from all over the States. No… no linked jobs, or… or colleges, or… anything. ‘Sides the fact the vics were all couples,”

 

With a nod, Sam clicked his neck from side to side until it cracked, pushed back against the table and added, “Unless we go and track down their families after all this time all over the place-”

 

“We just need to find whatever’s keeping the thing there,” Dean disagreed with a firm shake of his head. “Tear the place apart, burn up some old relic-”

 

“How’d we even know where to start looking?” Sam asked, shrugging his arms out at an odd angle with the helplessness he was feeling. “Or even what kinda ghost it is? We’ve not seen it yet,”

 

“Ghost is a ghost, Sammy,” Dean yawned, standing and stretching, “Don’t need to see it to know how to deal with it, do we?”

 

“I guess,”

 

“‘K. How ‘bout this. Me ‘n Cas’ll go for a walk. On the way back we’ll check the house out in daylight, see if there’s anything obvious we missed last night,”

 

“And me?”

 

“Well,” Dean said, leaning back over the laptop and scrolling back down the spreadsheet. “All the vics were couples, right? Seven couples. How many other guests came here weren’t some loved up couple sneaking away for some quality time by the beach, huh? What was it about those guys that this thing went after? Gotta be some link we're not seeing there, right?”

 

“‘K,” Sam agreed doubtfully, breathing out hard. “I’ll take another look,”

 

Dean turned away again but then pivoted awkwardly back with a suspicious frown. “What’d you do to get that anyway?”

 

“This?” Sam nodded at the screen and looked back up at him for confirmation. “Realtor. Said they digitized all their records couple years back with some intern looking for work experience. Scanned all the ID records they had in on file, collated all this stuff together into one spreadsheet,”

 

“Making our job easier, huh?” Dean smiled grimly, clamping a hand around his shoulder.

 

“ _My_ job easier, apparently, since you’re off on some _romantic stroll_ ,” Sam teased, looking happy to actually have the opportunity to tease him.

 

Dean shrugged, appearing unruffled yet already clamming up with the thought that it might turn out so very far from romantic and that they’d be fighting all over again in a matter of minutes. “So. What’d you do to get all this?”

 

A slow, sneaky grin crept across Sam’s face as he stretched, puffing out his chest. “What, you’re the only one around here who can charm information outta someone?”

 

“Hey,” Dean grinned, shaking his head ruefully, “I'm strictly a one man guy. Been a long, _long_ time since I've done any _charming_ of my own, 'specially since Cas don't seem too fussed for all that kinda thing anyway. What’d it cost you?”

 

“Drinks, tonight, down at her local bar. Figured you’d have the place to yourselves for a bit. Might do you good,”

 

“Mmhmm,” Dean laughing softly to himself as he turned away. “What sob story did you give her?”

 

“Oh you know,” Sam shrugged again, already turning away from him, “poor writer needing details for plot development, that kinda thing,”

 

Dean laughed again, calling across the room, “How hot is she?”

 

“Straight eleven,” Sam bit back without even a moment of hesitation making Dean’s chuckle ripple out into full blown laughter.

 

“Uh huh. So you scored yourself a date with a hot woman and you’re telling me you did it out of brotherly love?”

 

“I’m good like that,” Sam agreed turning back to him for a second with his eyes shining mirth.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, distracted immediately by Cas silently walking down the stairs and towards him.

 

“Sam’s gonna research for a bit. You ready to go?” Dean’s voice was soft as he turned into Cas, who nodded and absently leaned in to kiss him. At the ease of the gesture Dean allowed himself to feel cautiously positive, reaching out himself to wrap his arm around Cas’ waist and tug him closer, leading him outside and calling a goodbye to Sam as they left.

 

***

 

“We gonna do this properly?” Dean asked the moment they were outside on the terrace and alone.

 

Cas stood with the head tilt that frequently had Dean crumbling in weakness for seeing and waited for an explanation. Wordlessly Dean crouched down, rolled his jean legs up and wriggled his bare feet against the wood of the decking. Cas made to copy him but Dean reached out and stopped him with a light grip around his calf.

 

Dean kept the eye contact until Cas understood, then slid his palms down Cas’ leg and slowly pulled off his boot and sock, straightening a little taller so that Cas could keep his balance against his shoulders as he did the same with his other foot. Dean took a little time to roll up his jean legs evenly, tugging at the bottom to make sure they were okay before he stood up and found himself in Cas’ outstretched arms.

 

“We’re gonna have to take stuff with,” Dean mumbled into Cas’ shoulder, already wrapping his arms around him. “Said to Sam we’d check the house out on the way back,”

 

Cas nodded against him, taking his boots from Dean as he ducked down for both of their pairs, then slipped their hands together as they made their way on to the beach. Cas made an instant beeline for the water, squishing his toes in the thick wet sand and looking down at them with a slight smile on his face as the water washed in over them.

 

Dean stood beside him doing the same, although his own smile was at the simple pleasure in Cas’ expression. They stood, hand in hand, side by side staring out at the sea as soft waves lapped at their feet, and the surge and froth of the sea went some way to soothe Dean of what felt like the constant ache in his heart.

 

“You know, Dean, there are some fragments of rock beneath our feet that date back to your Precambrian,” Cas announced solemnly once they had started to stroll up the beach.

 

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, turned slightly to look at him, “How old’s this sand then?”

 

“The sand mostly originates from the Holocene period within the Quaternary, making the sediment up to 11,500 years old. But some of the rock itself, from the Precambrian, is as old as the earth itself,”

 

“Seriously?” Dean’s voice hitched in surprise as he looked down around his feet again as though somehow he'd be able to see the very rock Cas was talking about.

 

“Yes,”

 

With a slow nod, Dean turned slightly to watch Cas’ profile as they walked. “You, uh… you were around for a lot of that. Right?”

 

“I observed some of the Earth’s formation,” Cas said simply as though he was talking about witnessing a change of traffic signal.

 

“So… so plate tectonics and all that stuff. That was a thing?”

 

“It _is_ a thing,” Cas corrected with a small smile and quick glance in Dean’s direction. “Plate tectonics is an ongoing process that drives change across the Earth’s surface. The process was simply put in motion,”

 

“Right. Bet there’s some churchfolk who’d give you hell for that even being a possibility,”

 

“Then I would simply have to ‘give them hell’ back by reiterating it as the truth,”

 

Dean laughed, aware it was the relaxed kind of laughter he reserved only for Cas’ most hilarious outbursts, and wondered for a second if were Sam to have heard it he’d have found it anywhere near as funny. He thought probably not.

 

They paused to crouch and inspect an unusual shell, with Cas identifying it as a badly deformed periwinkle that he slipped into his pocket without comment before taking Dean’s hand again and turning silently for them to continue their walk.

 

“So… what’d this place used to look like?” Dean asked after a while, eyes out and scanning over the sea, breathing salty air deep into his lungs, as close to contented as he could allow himself to be in that minute.

 

“The gray silty sand here indicates an open marine environment. There is also evidence of dunes, and erosion of clay sand facies along this stretch of coastline. Geologically speaking, it has seen much activity. Of course, all of these names are modern labels and only approximate-”

 

“Eat your heart out, McClure,” Dean interrupted finding it impossible not to smile at him, fondly squeezing Cas’ hand. Cas’ eyes dropped to the movement for a moment before he squeezed back, and looked up again with a cautious smile.

 

Another quarter of a mile passed in mostly companionable silence, with each of them pointing out things for them to stop and look at. They spent a happy few minutes trying to skim pebbles, with Cas’ efforts far outstripping Dean’s and a small proud smile on his face being kissed off by a disgruntled Dean before he pulled Cas back in for a hug and breathed in deep at the feel of him in his arms.

 

“You know,” Dean mumbled into Cas’ ear as he held on to him, pressing a kiss there and smiling at the small shudder of response, “Sam’s out tonight,”

 

“Why?”

 

“Got himself a date with that realtor,” another kiss into Cas’ neck; Dean felt the awkward shift of Cas' body and fought against reacting to it, instead continuing a trial of kisses as though there had been no interruption. “Was thinking. Maybe we could duck into town later, pick up some stuff to make that beef thing you like so much, something to drink. Make a night of it. Thought maybe we can check out how deep that tub is. Whaddya think?”

 

“If you wanted to,”

 

Cas’ cautious reply did nothing to ease the unsettled feeling in Dean’s gut, but he continued his kisses along his jaw, pressing a final one to his cheek before nuzzling there.

 

“Cas, it’s about what _we_ want. It’s a night for us, no-”

 

“I meant. If you wanted to go out…”

 

“Oh,” Dean swallowed down his disappointment as the images he’d created for himself of just the two of them together and alone faded away to be replaced by a brash, loud bar that he really wasn’t in the mood for. But if that’s what Cas wanted- “Uh, sure. I mean, if you’d prefer we went out, that’s good too. Maybe we can check out-”

 

“I meant,” Cas interrupted with a carefully controlled tone, darting his eyes away from Dean’s face, “That if _you_ wanted to go out. Alone-”

 

“Alone?” Dean pulled back immediately, hands gripped lightly around Cas’ upper arms so he would look at him. “Why would I wanna go out alone?”

 

“If you wanted. To meet someone, to see if-”

 

The reality of Cas’ words caused Dean’s stomach to physically jolt with sickness, his fingers gripping automatically tighter around him.

 

“What? In what- I-”

 

Cutting himself off and huffing to control his fury and hurt, Dean forced a breath out and adamantly shook his head. “For the hundredth time, Cas. I don’t want nobody else. I want _you_. I need _you_ , Cas. No one’s ever gonna-”

 

“I cannot give you want you want. What you need-”

 

“I need _you_ , Cas,” Dean protested, gripping a little tighter as though that would make Cas accept what he was saying. “ _You_. Only you. I don’t know why-”

 

“This is not enough,”

 

The coldness in Cas’ voice left Dean trembling, a slap in the face of a reminder that _he_ was not enough for _Cas_. “It’s… you’ll always be enough for _me_ , Cas. Always: for as long as you’ll have me. For as long as I get,”

 

Cas stared back at him without giving any prompts, any clues to what he was thinking or any cues for how Dean should respond. Dean held his breath: what else was he supposed to do when it felt like his heart was shattering and that there was absolutely nothing he could do to prevent it?

 

When Cas didn’t make any move to say or do anything, Dean went for his usual go-to reaction to this argument that had been steadily pulling them apart for a while now. Raising his hands, Dean slid his fingertips over the stubble of Cas’ cheeks until his palms were flush against him, leaned forward and kissed him slow, thorough, taking a stumble forward until they were pressed firmly chest to chest, hip to hip, only allowing himself to relax a touch when Cas’ hands raised uncertainly to rest on his hips.

 

A sigh against his own lips that Dean wished he could swallow and Cas leaned into him, his weight heavy and his kiss filled with an anguish Cas’ face always succeeded in concealing. Dean kissed him until the lump in his throat became too tight, at which point he wrapped Cas up in a tight hug, pressing kisses in to the back of his hair as he fought to keep the tears falling from his eyes.

 

***

 

“You wanna wait out here, or… or head back to the house or something?”

 

The scowl Cas gave Dean as he straightened from pulling on his boots and nudged silently passed him to walk into the house was all the answer Dean needed; hanging his head for a moment he turned quickly on his heel to follow him inside, turning his ankle slightly and frowning at the texture of lingering sand between his toes inside his sock.

 

The air chilled enough for their breath to cloud in front of their mouths the second the door was closed behind them. Dean’s eyes swept over the house interior, taking in the light airiness of the room’s decoration in contrast with the weighted feeling in the air. An ever present sense of being watched crept in and hung around Dean’s neck; it was a familiar feeling from years of hunting and experience with ghosts, but one that still had him shrugging his shoulders against it as though rolling them back would roll _it_ back as well.

 

“Place don’t look half bad if you don’t think about the… you know,”

 

Cas gave a noncommittal grunt as he paced around the room, eyes slowly sweeping over every surface and bending down to turn over the cushions of the couch with a stiffness that suggested he had no idea what he was looking for.

 

“Apparently two of the stabbings happened in the bedroom we were in yesterday, one here in the living room,” Dean said, looking around him at the carpet, “and one in the kitchen.”

 

“The carpet does not appear to be particularly new,” Cas’ observation was doubtful, taking in and following Dean’s own gaze.

 

“Nope. Musta been one o’ the earlier ones. The falls were,” Dean glanced up, eyes narrowing at the banister above them, “one from up there all the way down the stairs, and one from the balcony of one of the bedrooms out back.”

 

“And the electrocution?”

 

“Kitchen,” Dean nodded in that direction. “Apparently someone tried to wedge a knife in a toaster and the thing just.... Went off on him,”

 

“Toasters do not ‘go off’,”

 

In an unconscious flicker of amusement Dean’s lips twitched as he followed Cas' air quotes, dropping his head the second Cas’ eyes narrowed at him in suspicion.

 

“And this is not ‘cute’, Dean,”

 

An uncontrolled burst of laughter escaped Dean’s mouth then and he quickly crowded forward, kissing Cas affectionately to take away the indignant pout on his face.

 

“I’ll be the judge of that,”

 

Cas’ hands raised to wrap around Dean’s forearms but, Dean convinced himself, more to hold him in place rather than push him back in any way.

 

“We are on a case,” Cas mumbled against his lips before Dean pulled back from him with a grin.

 

“So? ‘S just us two and a bastard of a ghost. Not hurting no one. We’re not the ones possessing no toasters, huh, Cas?”

 

Cas tilted his head again as though considering this, then kissed Dean all over again more insistently until he was stumbling back, and Cas was pulling abruptly away.

 

“We should look more thoroughly upstairs,”

 

Dean stared after Cas as he turned away from him following his grumbled out statement, panting a little for breath and having to adjust himself before he could move, watching and listening to each creak as Cas climbed the stairs. By the time he reached the top Dean’s sudden arousal had dissipated entirely at the sight of Cas hunched over and seeming to be having trouble breathing.

 

Rushing up the stairs to get his hands on Cas to pull him upright, Dean ignored the pounding of his heart for the rapid exertion and crouched down, grimacing at Cas’ pinched face.

 

“We’re getting you out of here,”

 

“No,”

 

A hand out to steady himself against Dean, Cas narrowed his eyes and forced a few longer breaths through his lungs then stepped determinedly along the hallway to the bedroom, although with his grip on Dean tightening as he struggled to keep going. Dean could do little but prop him up as Cas’ stubbornness won out.

 

Once through the doorway Cas stumbled forward unaided, clutching at shelves to make his way around the room with Dean’s hands reaching out to catch him with every step. With an oofing sound, Cas made it as far as the small couch in the corner of the room and sank down, the sound of relief punched out of him as he made contact with the cushions.

 

“Cas, c’mon. Let’s go,”

 

“I can rest here. You… look,”

 

The weakness in Cas’ voice and the pallor of his skin had Dean wanting to argue but the steel behind Cas' gaze showed him it was pointless. Gritting his teeth in frustration Dean again scanned the room, feeling foolish and purposeless without knowing what they should be looking for. Because of course, this really could be yet another standard salt and burn like all the others. But without a history, a story to make sense of everything, and coupled with Cas’ second strange out of character reaction to being in the allegedly haunted house, there was clearly a lot more to this one than the simplicity Dean was hoping for right now.

 

Curling his hands into tense fists, Dean continued to scope the room, lifting corners, twitching curtains, stepping into the frankly huge ensuite and half-expecting to see a reflection looking back through the mirror that didn’t belong to him.

 

When that didn’t happen Dean turned back into the bedroom, panic rising in his throat at the way Cas curled in on himself but knowing his words would be met with anger so keeping his concerns to himself. Another turn around the room, another frustrated reminder that they needed more information before they could do anything; Cas gave a soft groan that had Dean’s gaze snapping back to him and making a decision he knew he’d meet resistance against but was adamant about despite that.

 

“‘K. We need more. ‘S nothing here we can use. Let’s head back, see what Sam’s got, take-”

 

“If you are wanting to leave because of me-”

 

“Yeah I _am_ , Cas,” Dean retorted, his voice spiking as he dropped to a crouch in front of him, holding his balance against Cas’ shaking knees. “Not gonna apologise for being worried about you,”

 

Dean held his position and watched as Cas’ shoulders slumped, his hands reached out shakily to cover Dean’s, and his head slowly lifted only as far to look at the back them with no clear focus in his eyes.

 

“Enough already,” Dean snapped, half at Cas for allowing this to go on for so long and half at the still as yet unseen ghost that was clearly present but not doing anything to reveal itself. Standing up unsteadily Dean pulled Cas to his feet as well, standing as strong as he could as Cas clutched to him to keep himself upright.

 

With a stiff nod from Cas showing he was ready to move, Dean wrapped a supporting arm around his back and slowly walked Cas out, guiding him down the stairs, frowning at the odd knocks and nudges he heard behind them as they left. Through the living room, out the door, on to the porch; a loud creak behind them and the door slammed before Dean could even reach to close it.

 

Huffing to himself under the additional weight of Cas Dean shuffled them forward, off the porch and on to the sand. He stood still, bracing for Cas, waiting to hear his breathing even out. A quick glance back to the house and up at the bedroom they had just been in saw a sharp twitch of the curtain.

 

“Drama queen,” Dean scowled, glaring at the window and waiting to see if anything else would happen. “I say we trap this thing and make it tell us what it wants,”

 

“Dean,”

 

His face whipping around at breakneck speed to hear the oddness of Cas’ tone and Dean was stumbling forward and gripping him in a little tighter.

 

“Dean, I would like to go back. I believe I will need to sleep for a little while.”

 

“K,” Dean agreed, checking his voice, keeping it as even as despite Cas now seeming strong enough to take a little more of the responsibility for his own movement, though the additional sag and weight of him made it hard for Dean to shuffle forward himself.

 

“‘K,” he said again, adjusting his grip, “We’ll go back to bed for a bit. You. Me. Duvet. Shut eye. I can rustle something up from what I bought yesterday-”

 

“Perhaps I can sleep alone,”

 

Dean’s heart sank; he closed his eyes to the pain of Cas’ words, keeping his voice steady and as unaffected as he could.

 

“‘K,” Dean answered, trying to make it come out easy, “then how ‘bout… how ‘bout you go back up to bed and I head out, grab us some stuff for tonight? I’d… It’d be real good to spend the night with you, Cas. I… I need it, I…”

 

Dean’s voice trailed away, his argument dying on his tongue as Cas determinedly pressed forward as though his only goal and focus was on getting back to the house. Up on to the terrace, into the house, passing Sam standing there with a concerned raised eyebrow silenced by a discreet shake of Dean’s head. Up the stairs and barrelling forward to collapse face first on to the bed; Dean stood for a moment watching him then reached out, slowly sliding off Cas’ boots and socks, taking a blanket down from a shelf and flicking it out over him since Cas was insistent on passing out on top of the duvet.

 

Dean turned, leaning in the doorway and watching Cas as he immediately fell asleep, his face mashed against the pillow and his fists in tight balls beneath his chest where he’d slumped; Dean wondered how long before they went numb and made him move, idly considered shifting him himself, and then decided against it for the protest he’d no doubt receive.

 

Back down the stairs, coming to a stop beside Sam; Dean reached out absently to take a swig of Sam’s beer, shook his head against Sam’s questions. Fished his car keys out of his pocket and silently walked out, focusing on heading in to town to buy ingredients for cooking Cas a meal.

 

***

 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean returned from grocery shopping with his arms laden, heading straight into the kitchen to dump everything down on the counter before snagging up two already cold beers from the fridge and heading over to Sam, sliding the laptop away from him and smirking at Sam’s snort of indignation at the interruption.

 

Without commenting Sam took a swig of his beer and Dean felt him staring at him as he typed away in concentration, nodding to himself when satisfied before turning the screen a little back for Sam to see.

 

“Reckon this might’ve had an impact on people not visiting here so much as well?”

 

Sam’s eyes glanced over an article seeing phrases like _Virginia coastline_ and _critical levels of erosion_ jump out at him, then looked back over at Dean looking for an explanation.

 

“Just something Cas said down on the beach. Says here like twenty six percent of the coastline’s badly eroding. Gotta account for something, right? You go much further down the beach beyond that house and there’s barely any places to walk in ‘cos the sea comes in so far. And a few miles along looks like some kinda land slippage; there’s a house half hovering on the edge like it’s gonna fall any minute. Gotta’ve had an impact visitors wanting to come here, right? I mean… that and all the death and shit,”

 

A snort, and Sam skimmed over the screen again with a nod of agreement. “Could be. If coastal erosion’s between seven and ten feet a year…”

 

“Makes it a less popular destination if the sand’s literally being eaten away beneath your feet. Right?”

 

“Right. Still-”

 

“Doesn’t tell us much about what’s happening. I know,” Dean agreed, standing and walking back over to the kitchen to put away the shopping with Sam trailing closely behind him. “Maybe just helps explain why no one’s really _noticed_ all this for so long… you know? This stretch of beach 's just turned into a bit of a ghost town, with or without the ghosts,”

 

Sam gave an easy shrug, watching Dean as he slid a final box into an overhead cupboard and ducked beneath the door as he closed it too quickly.

 

“Got to him a second time, huh?”

 

Even without Cas’ name being mentioned Sam’s question had Dean gripping hard around the counter against the blow to his stomach, curling forward at the fear Sam’s words stirred in him before he could compose himself enough to give a grim nod.

 

“Yeah. Worse this time. One minute he was fine, then the next just… out of it.”

 

“And he wanted to sleep it off?”

 

“Yeah,”

 

Dean turned and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms tight across his chest. “Get anywhere with the couples thing?”

 

Out of the corner of his eye Dean saw Sam’s careful reaction to him changing the subject and stiffened, bracing himself for further questions that he really didn't want to have to try answering.

 

“Seems like couples made up the biggest number of people renting the beach house,” Sam answered finally, turning and joining Dean to lean. “At least, eighty three of the bookings are listed as _double occupancy_ instead of _single_ or _family_. Guess we can start… cold-calling ‘em all. Make out like we’re researching for this book of ours, looking for contributions for the story we’re telling or something?”

 

“Think your realtor friend’s gonna appreciate even more bad press for her business?” Dean gave an amused snort and shook his head, turning a touch to look at him.

 

“Not actually her business; she just works there. Anyway... between the three of us it won’t actually take us that long to call,” Sam pointed out, bracing for Dean’s reaction.

 

“That’s gotta be what… just under thirty phone calls each? You imagine Cas’ patience lasting through even five of 'em?”

 

Both of them gave a snort of laughter at a shared memory of Cas working through a list of witnesses over the phone, his growing fury at what he seemed to feel was their intentional stupidity bristling in the air around him, caught each other’s eye and shook their heads with fond smiles.

 

“Can’t we just… I don’t know. Email ‘em all? Kinda ‘hey, wanna be part of our book? Drop us a line or… call this number with your ghost stories’ kinda thing?”

 

Sam’s face lit up and he turned away, coming back into the kitchen seconds later with the laptop and nudging at Dean to look.

 

“Most of them have email addresses. Look at these,” Sam pointed at the screen in amusement. “Some of these addresses… who uses AOL or CompuServe anymore? Some of ‘em are so old they might not even work,”

 

“Hey. People still use Hotmail, don’t they? Some people don’t like change; no judgement, okay? ‘Sides… worth a go, isn’t it? Strikes some off our list of our ones to call?”

 

Another nod from Sam and he was staring at the screen, filtering the spreadsheet in front of him. “There’s like… thirteen without an email address. How ‘bout we set up a new sim, send an email out this afternoon, see what we come up with? I mean I guess we’ll have a few more to add to the list once we receive bouncebacks from all those that don’t work anymore, but… we can make a start, right?”

 

“I can start on that list if you wanna set that email up?” Dean offered, already working out how long it would take him so he could start on dinner.

 

“Sure,” Sam’s answer did nothing to hide his surprise at Dean’s offer but thankfully he made no further comment, just picked up the laptop and walked back through. Dean followed, rummaging in the open holdall now on the table until his fingers snagged around the edge of an envelope and a cell.

 

As Sam sank into his seat and began putting together an email, Dean pulled one of the sim cards from the envelope, set up the new number and cleared his throat, ready to jot down a list of numbers to call.

 

“I sent a link, you can open it up on the tablet,” Sam told him, distracted enough not to answer in any kind of detail, though smiling to himself for already having anticipated Dean’s question.

 

Crossing over to the couch Dean dropped himself down on to it and stretched out, clinking his bottle down on to the small table beside it and flipping open a notebook, his pen scratching roughly in the margins as he checked it was working before he opened up the spreadsheet.

 

Dean paused before tapping to make the first call, eyes turning towards the ceiling as he considered going up to check on Cas before starting. A second later he jumped up, passing uncommented on by Sam, walked quietly up the stairs and softly into their bedroom, both smiling and grimacing to see Cas still passed out in almost exactly the same position as he’d left him in earlier.

 

With no excuse of a slipped blanket to need to instigate touch Dean’s stomach sank at the thought of even needing an excuse. He stood watching from his side of the bed, taking in the rise and fall of Cas’ back, the way his constantly dry lips were ever so slightly parted, the span of stubble darkening his jaw.

 

Not so long ago, Dean would have slipped off his shoes and slid into bed with him, pressed kisses on his face until it wrinkled up then smoothed out into a smile as Cas’ arm snaked out to wrap around him and pull him in tighter. Dean ached with the urge to do just that but couldn’t tell if it would be welcomed, and didn’t think he could face being pushed away again when he felt so very exposed from never knowing when the next rejection was coming.

 

Unable to resist at least a little contact Dean bent over, bracing himself against the bed far away enough from Cas to not disturb the mattress too much, nuzzled against his cheek and pressed a kiss to his forehead, shifting and reaching out a second later to pointlessly press down a tuft of hair that had fallen there.

 

Another moment of watching Cas without him stirring and Dean straightened himself back up, telling himself firmly he wasn’t going to make a big deal of this, wasn’t going to cause a fuss - over whatever was affecting Cas, over his request to sleep alone, over the desperate sensation of loss that seemed to course through his every vein as though Cas was already lost to him.

 

There had been no implicit time given for Cas’ departure, no date to prepare for, no timescale to begin to prepare _himself_. That he would go though, Cas had made that clear; the thought that it could be at any moment, the thought that Cas would leave, and would never return, winded Dean just as hard as the first time he’d realised it was an inevitability, and for some reason the sudden reminder had him double over in agony just outside the room.

 

It didn’t help that there were still so many snatches of intimacy between them. Dean would always lean into Cas automatically to touch, to kiss, to do all the things with him he’d always wanted to, had grown used to doing instinctively. But when Cas reached back for him or initiated touch, then shrank back from it as though he’d forgotten himself, the pain from that rejection was too, too much. But Dean didn’t have the strength to pull back from it, not to cave into it each and every time, to take everything that Cas would give him intentionally or otherwise.

 

Dean wanted to slide to the floor there, cry himself raw, crawl his way back to the bedroom and into the bed, curl up and beg for forgiveness, for understanding. To cling to Cas, beg him not to leave, plead with him to not want to leave him. For Cas to love him back as he’d once thought he already did.

 

An angry swipe to his face to brush away the unwanted tears escaping there and Dean forced himself upright, grit his teeth, took a deep breath that did little to settle him. He took a final glance back at the open doorway then propelled himself forward, along the corridor and down the stairs, slumping down on the couch and throwing himself into work.

 

***

 

Under two hours later Dean stretched out in an arch along the couch and groaned, dropping the cell softly to the carpet at the end of his last fruitless call. He gave himself a moment to close his eyes, going over any of the calls to see if he could remember any small details that would help them in any way, rolled himself up with another groan and stood, a slight dizziness making him keep still for a moment as the sudden movement threw him off.

 

“Not a one,” he sighed at Sam as he approached the table, grabbing and turning a chair to straddle as he sat down next to him and rested his elbows along its back.

 

“Got nothing yet either,” Sam added, nodding at the screen, “but I only sent it out about an hour ago, so. Probably too soon,”

 

Dean gave a noncommittal grumble of response, dropping his chin down to rest there as he pulled and crossed his arms in.

 

“Guess we wait. Hey, you gonna eat with us ‘fore you go?”

 

Dean forced himself upright and over to the kitchen despite the general feel of apathy weighing him down, beginning to pull things together to start cooking and not waiting for Sam’s response; he’d leave him some either way so it didn’t really matter what he wanted to do.

 

“I think we’re eating there, actually,” Sam said, appearing behind him and extending a hand in an offer of help that was shook away with a short snap of Dean's head from side to side.

 

“Should we not expect you home?”

 

Sam laughed at the tease in Dean’s voice, dropping his head forward with a low groan. “Don’t know yet. But you know. I’ll make sure I’m out a few good hours, give you time to-”

 

“Don’t need to do that, man,” Dean protested, though quietly hoping he and Cas would get at least some time alone, since it might take Cas a little time to thaw out to being relaxed with him again. Dean's heart sank at the realisation that he'd started to notice that sort of pattern to the way Cas had behaved earlier, tried to stop his thoughts spiralling as a result.

 

“Gonna try and talk?”

 

The knife blade striking the wood of the chopping board rang out sharper as Dean’s cutting become firmer, more precise, as though the action would counteract the hurt the question had caused him.

 

Sam had no idea how hard his constant pressing for he and Cas to talk wounded him. He had no idea, because he didn’t have the full story; all Sam could see was Dean being his usual stubborn self instead of noticing the brokenness he felt at the actual truth.

 

Dean knew Sam would listen, even knew Sam’s apparent defence of Cas would likely evaporate into thin air in an instant and instead turn to anger if he knew the truth of it, giving Dean his whole unquestioning support. Maybe that was part of the reason he hadn’t told him Cas planned on leaving him, Dean reasoned to himself, justifying his protectiveness over Cas a thousand ways over as though any one of them might do any good.

 

“Yeah, we’ll talk,” Dean said instead, moving around Sam in an obvious gesture that said he needed to shift and that the conversation was over. Sam moved but continued to stare at him pensively for a little longer, then sighed quietly and turned away, announcing he was going to go and get ready.

 

Dean worked in silence, pouring all his attention into preparing the ingredients in front of him, focused enough not to hear the quiet footsteps behind him and jolting at the gentle warmth of a palm pressed against his back.

 

“Hey,” Dean spun, eyes widening as he spun to catch Cas’ careful expression. A quick glance over his face showed Dean he was better, the drawn look there earlier now at least a little less. Cas stepped forward, turning and nudging Dean back against the counter with a kiss; the knife in Dean’s hand clattered abandoned to the side, his focus switched to giving his full attention to Cas, unwilling to miss a second of Cas’ interest in him.

 

Would all the _I love yous_ he’d always thought but never said out loud, all the honesty he’d cowardly brushed to one side, all the initial affection he’d held back on make any difference now if he could do it all over, Dean asked himself, deepening the kiss and pressing his fingers low around Cas’ waist in a light grip, pulling him closer.

 

Cas responded just as eagerly, leaning in tight, fingers playing through Dean’s hair, every move of his mouth making Dean feel like he was being cherished. When Cas eventually pulled back from him but continued leaning against him, gazing back a little short of breath, there was no way for Dean to prevent himself blurting out what felt like a pathetic, “I miss you,”

 

Instantly stilling against him Cas pulled back a fraction, guarded eyes sliding over Dean’s in silence. “I was only sleeping upstairs,”

 

“I know,” Dean agreed with a shallow nod and a further tightening of his fingers around Cas’ waist as he sunk himself down a little against the counter to press a little more fully up against him, touching at every point he could. “Just saying,”

 

“It is unnecessary,”

 

Irrational sadness bubbled up in Dean then, gathering Cas even closer still.

 

“Yeah, well. You know I like it when you kiss me like that,”

 

“I have often kissed you ‘like that’-”

 

"Lately it feels like every kiss 's a goodbye, Cas,"

 

Dean’s uncontrolled statement hung ominous in the air between them, with Cas growing even more rigid for the few seconds he allowed Dean to keep holding him before he pushed himself away and stood awkwardly just a little off to the side.

 

“I do not belong here-”

 

“How many times I gotta tell you you _do_ ? You _do_ belong here, with _me_ , Cas,”

 

Desperation had Dean’s hand snatching out to pull Cas back into him; he fell against Dean’s chest with his arms trapped between them, allowing his head to drop down on his shoulder. They stood there awkwardly breathing against each other, with Dean wondering if Cas shared even a little of the silent pain that thrummed physically beneath his skin.

 

“That is not-”

 

"Can we just have one night. One night, where we’re not fighting, huh, Cas?" And if Dean’s plea came out as pathetic as it sounded to his own ear, he didn’t care, not for a minute.

 

Cas’ slow head raise had Dean’s heart fluttering, forcing a tight swallow in his throat when their eyes finally met. Dean’s eyes dropped to the way Cas’ mouth opened, hung as though stuck between words.

 

“I never intend to fight with you,” Came Cas’ final, quiet response that sounded a lot like it was meant for his own ears only; Dean allowed himself a stiff nod of acknowledgement.

 

“Me either. Still keep on doing it though, don’t we?”

 

Again Dean was trapped by Cas’ stare, waiting for him to talk, until he quietly replied with, “Not tonight,”

 

Forcing his mouth into a smile against the urge to let his lips tremble with how close he was to losing it, Dean ducked in with a quick kiss and nudged Cas back, making idle commentary on what he was cooking as Cas silently leaned against the counter watching him. Dean answered Cas’ careful questions on their progress with the case, trying to keep away the images of Cas all but collapsing in the neighbouring house as they warred with his fears for the future when Cas was no longer there for him to worry about.

 

***

 

Dean slid the door closed behind him and stepped up beside where Cas was leaning against the terrace railing, staring over at the darkened house. The sea lapped off to their side in a way Dean would normally find soothing, but at the moment was just another acknowledgement of the ticking away of time that made him fearful about what any next moment could bring.

 

With a light grip around Cas’ shoulder Dean pulled him in, aware that it appeared at least a couple of degrees warmer outside their own house than inside, yet still that a chill whispered up around them where they stood.

 

An absent kiss to Cas’ temple and he snuggled closer to Dean automatically, though his eyes remained fixed on the house.

 

“I dislike the… difficulty this case is causing me,”

 

Dean’s arm tightened around Cas, pressing and lingering another kiss against the side of his head, feeling his chest rising and falling against him.

 

“Me too. Got any idea why it’s happening to you?”

 

“No,”

 

Cas shifted until he was able to sneak his arm behind Dean and wrap it around his waist, curling his fingers around Dean’s side before huffing, dropping his head back against the crook of his neck. Dean welcomed the movement, closed his eyes as he savoured it, tried to press back with all the warmth he wanted to give him.

 

“Although I suppose it is possible that the ghost is attempting to communicate with me. And that my reaction is because I am… _suspended_ between angel and human,”

 

Slowly nodding to himself, Dean allowed his lips to form into a small smile. “Hey,” he mumbled with a duck of his head against Cas’, “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tryna communicate with something they don't understand and getting it all hella wrong,”

 

The screech of radio frequency, the smash of glass, the pop of lightbulbs overhead; there was no way for Cas to misinterpret where Dean’s memories were heading and he huffed, turned a rueful smile into Dean and wrapped his other arm around his waist, leaning his head down against his shoulder.

 

“Perhaps,”

 

“Wonder why it’s just couples?” Dean mused to himself more than Cas as he glanced at the house again over his shoulder, feeling Cas shaking his head against him.

 

“Perhaps it needs the energy to manifest enough strength to attack,”

 

“Yeah but if that’s true, how come it’s never attacked any families that were here, huh? Surely more people’d give it more energy if that’s the case?”

 

“I do not know,” Came Cas’ muffled reply.

 

“Although,” Dean added, the thought occurring to him then and mentally kicking himself for it. “Don’t mean they never saw anything. I mean… maybe they just never said anything. Maybe we could be contacting the families as well,”

 

When Cas raised his head and an eyebrow Dean nodded, explained his and Sam’s reasoning for their earlier email. Cas hummed, dropping his head back down and mumbling, “How long would it take you to email everyone on your list?”

 

“I don’t know. I guess… I mean we’ve got the email all set up, I just need to copy and paste all the addresses in. Maybe… I don’t know. Ten, twenty minutes tops?”

 

“Then I suggest,” Cas began, straightening himself back up and pressing the softest of kisses to Dean’s lips, “that you take those twenty minutes to do that,”

 

A clutch around Dean’s heart and he was wrapping his arms around Cas even tighter, rapidly shaking his head. “Tonight’s just about us, Cas. I-”

 

“Take those twenty minutes,” Cas continued, kissing away Dean’s protest, “It is important. I will meanwhile begin running that bath you suggested. I saw the bubble bath you bought,”

 

Images of slicked up skin in a bath of bubbles assaulted Dean then and he found himself nodding rapidly, pressing in his own quick kiss that soon deepened into something a little more.

 

“‘Probly don’t need even twenty minutes,” Dean blurted out hastily, feeling Cas smile against his lips.

 

“We have all night,” Cas reasoned, his smile warm, affectionate, enough for Dean to both fall into and fear losing all in one go.

 

“I’ll be quick,” he promised, as Cas pulled away and slotted their hands together, tugging him back inside.

 

***

 

“... _Cas_...”

 

Dean’s moan echoed out around the bathroom, his head falling back against the lip of the tub as he strained to press his knees even wider apart. Cas darted his tongue out over Dean’s lips, insinuating them open as he tightened his grip around the bath edge, keeping them firmly in place whilst his other hand worked them tightly together beneath the water.

 

Adjusting on his knees Cas quickened his pace, twisting on every upstroke and gripping a little firmer on the down. An arch of Dean’s neck had him diving in and mouthing along there, breathing hot against his ear as his own wave of pleasure made him groan out in answer to Dean’s.

 

That Cas was able to so easily keep them propped up like this with Dean on his back and Cas between his legs added to Dean’s overall arousal, along with the determined expression on Cas’ face and the way that expression flickered with every ripple of his own arousal. Dean chased Cas’ mouth, initiating another kiss and gripping tightly to his own thighs where Cas had pressed his hands earlier so that he wouldn’t attempt to touch himself, choking out another gasp as Cas groaned against his lips, and had him calling out Cas’ name all over again.

 

“Want you, Cas,” He managed to stutter out; Cas thrust into his own palm in response, making them both shiver at the feeling.

 

“I think we should continue this in our bed, in that case,” Cas suggested, eyes fluttering closed once again.

 

“Sounds good to me,” Dean rushed to reply with, his consciousness lingering far too long around the word _our_.

 

Cas offered him a smile then, slowing his stroking and loosening his grip on them but not yet letting go, kissing him sweetly until Dean sighed out in contentment. This had been a good idea, Dean told himself again, rolling his hips the little movement he could and tilting his head up for another kiss.

 

He’d come upstairs less than the promised twenty minutes he’d said he needed to send those emails, stepped carefully over the line of salt at the doorway of the bathroom and smiled at Cas’ mumbled _I did not wish to be disturbed whilst we were immersed in water, Dean,_ then stepped out of his clothes as Cas did the same and slid into the tub with him.

 

The water had been perfect, hot enough to send spirals of steam up into the air, the slickness the bubbles adding to the water proving to be a perfect addition as they’d slowly stroked each other, making out unhurried as the water slowly cooled. The way Cas had rolled him over so effortlessly on to his back to take them both in his hand unfurled in Dean’s gut repeatedly until all he could picture was Cas sliding inside him.

 

Another longer kiss brought Dean back to himself; Cas knelt up straighter, stepping out of the bath and extending a hand to guide Dean out as well. Dean watched as Cas bent over to pull the plug out, couldn't resist reaching out and skimming his hands over his ass in a curl that had Cas humming in appreciation and spinning around to kiss him all over again.

 

They dried off half-heartedly, far too lost in each other and what they wanted to happen next to give it too much effort, smirking as the water from their hair dripped and broke the line of salt at the doorway and leaving wet footprints down the hallway to their room.

 

Out of the water the coldness of the house rapidly came back to them both, shivering and hurriedly diving under the duvet and into each other’s arms. Cas curled over Dean pressing him onto his back, rolling his hips until their cocks dragged against one another with both of them letting out a soft moan at the contact.

 

A few more minutes of them rutting unhurriedly together and Cas was reaching out for the lube in the drawer beside the bed, pressing slick fingers into Dean with eased practice, smiling at each of his gasps and arches as he slowly worked him open. Dean gazed up at Cas, one hand on his side and the other clenched in the sheets as Cas worked, accepting kisses that he could no longer initiate for the rolls of pleasure leaving him loose-limbed.

 

Then Cas was shifting on his knees again, holding Dean open, lining himself up, pressing in in a slow, delicious slide that had them groaning in unison as he sank all the way inside him. His eyes fixed on Dean with an intensity he couldn’t look away from, smoothing his hands over Cas’ back as he opened his legs as high and wide as possible for him, doing all he could to take even more of him inside.

 

That eye contact continued with every roll, every groan, every briefly claimed kiss; for no one else would Dean ever accept the expression _making love_ , but this was what Cas was doing to him now, what he himself was trying to give back. Dean couldn’t snatch his gaze away from the expressions on Cas’ face as he got closer, so clearly fighting to hold back and wait for him.

 

A change of angle and Dean was arching, breaking their eye contact temporarily as Cas’ cockhead grazed over his prostate. When he managed to look again Cas was smiling smugly, purposefully angling himself exactly the same way for another few strikes before shifting again, claiming another quick kiss, and speeding up.

 

Dean watched Cas building, felt himself doing the same, pushed back the urge to fight against it because of the irrational voice whispering at him that this was the last time, that this would be it, that he’d never have Cas inside him again. The thought brought a blasted sob out of his mouth; Cas’ eyes narrowed to hear it, made him duck down and claim another, dirtier kiss, before he started pounding into him harder, faster, chasing their release.

 

Another few thrusts and Dean was coming, arching up and groaning, especially at the way Cas glanced down at his come splattered on his chest, which seemed to make him speed up possessively. Another slap of skin on skin, and another, and another still; Cas was grunting, grinding up against him and falling forward as Dean forced himself to concentrate on the feel of Cas pulsing inside him.

 

They laid tangled together with their chests rising and falling as they fought to catch their breath, Dean feeling the strange contrast of their intimately connected bodies but already the emotional distancing between them; the thought had him wrapping his arms tighter around Cas as though that could anchor them together, begging himself not to lose it altogether yet again and actually break down like he constantly felt like doing lately.

 

Another few moments; Cas moved, kissed him gently, pressed their foreheads together for a beat and slowly slid out of him, disappearing and reappearing with a small towel to wipe them both down.

 

An arranging of limbs, absent kisses into skin and slotting fingers through fingers against Dean’s stomach where Cas held him close. Cas sighed against him with a final shift as he settled, and so began Dean’s now far too common pattern on the rare occasions when Cas stayed in the bed beside him. Of listening to Cas falling asleep as though monitoring it would keep him there, of staring out across the room or up at the ceiling until finally he was too tired to rehash all the arguments going around inside his head.

 

***

 


	5. Chapter 5

The loneliness of waking up to Cas not being beside him yet again never got any easier, never alarmed him any less. Dean was out of bed, struggling into his jeans, turning back to shrug a t-shirt on after remembering Sam’s comments from the previous morning, then he was diving out of the room and running down the stairs.

 

Cas sat beside Sam, both of them pouring over two stacks of papers they seemed to be steadily working their way through in a comfortable silence.

 

Dean’s breathing evened out in relief at seeing Cas sat there instead of being _gone_ , yet that relief was replaced with a sudden blast of what he knew was irrational irritation at the easy scene in front of him that he himself couldn't be a part of.

 

“Whattya doing?” He groused out, making them both look up. Cas rose instantly, walking over to the kitchen and coming back with a mug of coffee that he pressed into Dean’s hand before sitting back down smoothly again with only the barest of mumbles of greeting.

 

“Morning,” Sam called, a finger following something on the page before him then putting it into the larger of two piles in front of him. “Beth mentioned they’ve kept customer satisfaction surveys for these houses back since the realtor company first bought the properties. I’m working through the ones for next door, Cas is looking through the ones for here,”

 

“Here?” Dean checked, sliding down into the seat opposite Cas and watching his face lift from where he was reading to look at Dean with a cautious smile that he even more cautiously returned.

 

“Yeah. She said the cleaners were creeped out by this place as well, remember?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, an unconscious glance around the room as he did, “it’s kinda cold, if nothing else,”

 

“There is a presence here. Just as in that house. Watching,”

 

Cas’ calm statement so in contrast with the weight of his words had Dean clearing his throat for further explanation. Cas’ fingers paused, curled around the edge of the page he was looking at.

 

“I have felt it since we returned from that house the night before last. I cannot… tell you anything more than that it is _watching_ ,”

 

“That an angel thing you think, or-”

 

“Many humans believe themselves capable of sensing spirit,” Cas shrugged, turning back to his work with no sign of being at all troubled by his own words, leaving Dean to rationalise to himself about a hundred thought processes at once.

 

“So,” Dean started, eyes on Cas for a second longer before dragging them back over to Sam, “How’d you get this stuff?”

 

“Beth,” Sam said without even really glancing up, adding another page to the steadily growing pile to his right.

 

“Realtor’s got a name now, huh?”

 

Sam smiled, eyes still not lifting, though with an accompanying shrug that suggested a touch of embarrassment.

 

Dean found himself grinning, his lips twitching up into a teasing smirk. “So I repeat; how’d you get this stuff?”

 

“Snuck it out under my jacket this morning,”

 

“'This morning'?”

 

At Sam’s nod, Dean cleared his throat again, which finally had Sam looking up at him. Dean raised an eyebrow that demanded more details and Sam’s shoulders rolled, that touch of embarrassment turning up another notch.

 

“From the office,” Sam clarified, becoming thoroughly engrossed in the words he was reading all over again.

 

As though Dean’s stare was an actual physical thing Sam slowly lifted his head for a second time, rolling his eyes and sighing at him. “Stayed in her office last night. She’s got a couch,”

 

“Can’t imagine any couch is big enough for your ass to sleep on, ‘specially with company-”

 

“There wasn’t much sleeping,”

 

Dean’s other eyebrow raised to join the first and his lips curled up into a bigger smile. “Sammy,” he said, pretending to sound impressed. Sam shot him a look that clearly said _fuck off_ and set Dean off laughing.

 

“So? You looking for bad reviews based on things that go bump in the night, or what?” Dean asked, eyes flitting between the two of them hard at work and feeling a stab of guilt for not already helping.

 

“Essentially,” came Cas’ drole reply; Dean reached across the table and halved Cas’ stack, offering up a wink as Cas’ head shot up at the movement and looked away immediately to start reading through himself.

 

“How was Beth?” Cas asked a moment later. Dean raised his head in curiosity at Cas’ unexpected question, not quite sure what Cas actually meant by it.

 

“Uh…” Sam stuttered, looking to Dean for help and not receiving any, “I-”

 

“Do you believe you would like to spend more time with her?” Cas amended, looking so very focused on what was in front of him that his words seem even more out of place.

 

“Uh… I guess? Sure? I mean-”

 

“So it is likely you will be visiting here after the case is complete,” Cas continued. There was something in Cas’ tone that had Dean’s heart thumping but no way of pinpointing what it was.

 

“It’s… it’s a bit soon to tell that, Cas-”

 

“What does she look like?” Continued Cas’ questioning, that feeling of confused alarm crushing Dean’s chest a little harder.

 

“I- uh… she’s… kinda petite-”

 

“Everyone looks petite to you,” Dean tried to joke; Cas’ eyes lifted to him and the coldness there had him frozen in place.

 

Sam made an uncomfortable noise beside them but Dean didn’t even dare look away from Cas, kept perfectly still as he heard Sam's uncertainty before he continued.

 

“I… uh… she’s… she’s got dark brown hair-”

 

“I assumed you preferred blond women, Sam,” Cas observed, sliding his eyes over to Sam and holding the gaze for a second before looking back to Dean. “It is Dean who usually favours brunettes. Lisa is a-”

 

“Yeah and so are you,” Dean bit back, panic, anger and surprise fighting for dominance as he tried to work out what was going on in Cas’ head. “So maybe I _do_ got a thing for brunettes-”

 

“Anyway,” Sam said, rapidly flitting his eyes between them both, “Let’s- let’s get through these, huh?” nodding in the direction of the table and the look in his eyes telling Dean that he was just as confused as him by Cas' outburst.

 

***

 

A couple of hours later between more cups of coffee and breakfast eaten from plates wedged amongst the papers scattered across the table and they all sat back heavily at the turn of the final page in Sam's hand.

 

“So, things in common,” Dean started with a wave of the smaller of his stacks, “Both houses got complaints about being cold, even in the middle of summer.”

 

“Both also have several mentions of hearing music playing, although there are somewhat more of those in the other house,” Cas added, curling his fingers in a stretch around his mug.

 

“Here’s my highlights,” Sam offered, sifting through some of his own pages, “Three families left early because they ‘felt like they were being watched’, one kid apparently had his phone snatched out of his hand and thrown across the floor and had to be taken to the local hospital because he had a massive asthma attack. Lots of complaints about the decoration needing updating ‘cos it was out of date and made the place seem creepy-”

 

“Yeah,” Dean laughed, “‘m sure a lick of paint’ll fix all what’s going on,”

 

“And get this one,” Sam continued, glancing up a Dean before searching through the scrawled handwriting in front of him and tapping his finger there, “‘If I wanted to stay in a haunted house I’dve signed up for Ghost Hunters and made a name for myself,’”

 

Dean snorted and nodded, imagining nameless faces coming down here for a family break and ending up being scared away by something they couldn't even see.

 

“There is a record here about a bath being ‘interrupted’ by all the faucets pouring out steam,” Cas added, his eyes raising to Dean’s for a second with a twitch of a smile before he looked away again, appearing to Dean to be frowning at himself.

 

“Reckon _Beth_ ’ll have one of those itinerary lists?” Dean said then, lingering a look at Cas then turning back to Sam.

 

“What itinerary lists?”

 

“You know. The ones where realtors check everything that’s in the property before a tenant moves in so they can hold back some of the security bond if anything’s broken or goes missing?”

 

“You think they’ll have them for vacation homes?” Sam asked, the dubious tone of his voice showing Dean just how little he thought of the idea. Dean raised his hands up in a shrug.

 

“Gotta be worth an ask, right? If we can find… I don’t know. Something missing, something added, replaced over the years - maybe get a record of any repairs done to the place as well-”

 

“How’d you think I’m gonna get all that outta her?” Sam asked, his voice raising at the end in an incredulous laugh.

 

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean said, shifting with a mischievous smirk on his face, “Guy keeps a woman entertained a whole night on a couch? I’d say she’d be happy for round two-”

 

“You don’t think it’s kinda suspicious if I-”

 

“Go work your magic,” Dean stopped Sam with a raised hand, turning his face away though still grinning. “Don’t need the details. Just… find out. Maybe worth a look,”

 

“Perhaps if she knows she will see you again in the future,” Cas added without looking up, turning over a final page unnecessarily since Dean had already watched him do the same thing three times.

 

Sam stared at Cas in continued bafflement for long enough that Dean grew so uncomfortable that he pushed back from the table to stand, a desperate need to be decidedly _elsewhere_ overwhelming him. The movement did enough to have Sam shake his head as though clearing it and sit back himself with a long stretch and yawn.

 

“Later,” Dean said with a tilt of his chin in the direction of the stairs. “I didn’t mean right now, okay? Go get some sleep; you look like hell,”

 

Apparently not needing to be told twice Sam was up, stretching again and trudging up the stairs out of sight. Dean stared up the stairs after him for a minute or so then dropped his gaze back down to Cas.

 

“You couldn’t sleep again, huh?” Dean asked after watching Cas in silence until he had to say something, anything at all to try and cut the tension between them.

 

“I was… restless,” Cas offered, eyes dropping from Dean’s in an instant. Dean took in the darkness beneath his eyes, the way he seemed to sag with tiredness and felt his stomach turn over, wondering how many hours Cas had managed before he'd slipped unnoticed out of their bed. A cold, unsettling thought occurred to Dean then, tightening over his chest and making him wheeze out an unconscious gasp.

 

“You… you weren’t gonna leave without-”

 

Cas’ delayed reply came after what felt like several minutes, sounding careful, measured, and to Dean, utterly terrifying.

 

“I was not. Although perhaps that would be the easiest solution here, if I were to simply go without issue,”

 

The warmth and affection that had surrounded Dean in a temporary bubble of security the evening before now burst. A jolt to his stomach, a dryness to his mouth; Dean curled his fingers into tight fists against his thighs and tried to force himself to speak evenly, to not give away exactly how panicked he was feeling.

 

“Cas-”

 

“However it would seem rather premature to leave mid-case,”

 

His eyes stinging in his war against his own tears Dean nodded, slow, repeated far too many times as though he was in a trance. “So does that mean-”

 

“Perhaps when we are done here, I should make preparations to leave,”

 

Flinching at the first splash of a tear against his cheek, Dean dug his short fingernails into his palms, the small amount of pain it caused nowhere near enough to offer any kind of relief.

 

“And me asking… _begging_ you not to… not gonna change anything. Is it?” He managed to churn out, fighting and failing to keep his jaw from trembling.

 

Cas looked over him with what Dean could only think of as detached sympathy; a coldness that spoke of understanding Dean’s suffering in theory but not in any way sharing it. Of not fearing the pain of separation and of not already missing him so badly it was all he could do not to curl up into a ball right there and give into the tears already beginning to trickle down his face.

 

“Dean. It is already becoming too difficult. It already _is_ too difficult. It would be kinder to us both if-”

 

“Don’t suppose I can convince you to take one last road trip with me ‘fore you go, huh? Just the two of us... for old time's sake and all that? One last goodbye?” Dean laughed out, lacking humour in it as he angrily swiped away the tears from his cheeks and his words blasted out of him in a desperate crack. So this was it; the reality he’d been trying to pretend wouldn’t ever happen though had never stopped fearing now had a fixed point to it. An actual end. Perhaps not an exact date, but some near future that he should begin to get himself ready for. Would have to, even if it was the last thing in the world that he wanted.

 

“I believe it for the best if-”

 

“Got it,”

 

Dean stood abruptly against the hurt sinking into him, the slide of the chair against the hard floor jarring enough to set his teeth on edge. “If you’re in such a hurry to leave, you don’t gotta stick around for the case,”

 

“I want to help,”

 

Dean screwed up his eyes and forced out a hard breath, giving a tight nod as despair flashed through him and the need to be anywhere but right where he was in that moment surged hard.

 

“I will… I believe it best that I take the couch from tonight,” Cas added; Dean stumbled forward at the words, the pain in his gut feeling no different from a solid kick against an already gaping wound.

 

“Sam’s… Sam’ll see you and… he’s gonna ask-”

 

“I will deal with his questions should he ask them.” The monotone of Cas’ voice provided Dean with an entirely new level of pain, a stark reminder that what had been the best times of his life had probably meant nothing to Cas at all.

 

“I… I haven’t told him you’re planning on leaving yet. Couldn’t bring myself to,” Dean laughed coldly at himself then, realising what a fool he had been ever allowing himself to even pretend to believe he'd be good enough to get to keep something as good as what he'd thought he'd had with Cas. “Guess I was still tryna convince myself you’d stick around after all, but…”

 

“This is for the best. For both of us,”

 

Dean screamed internally, mentally arguing back against that statement when not one part of it felt true.

 

“Nothing I say here’s gonna change your mind. Is it,”

 

Cas stared back at Dean unmoving as though he hadn’t even heard his words. The discomfort Dean felt had him shifting, daring to take a pace closer again, and brushed his knuckles repeatedly over the table’s surface.

 

“No amount of sorries, or I love you’s ‘s gonna make one bit of difference here. Is it,”

 

“Dean. I am leaving _because_ I love you. Because I am holding you back from what you truly want. Because I-”

 

The sharp strike of Dean’s knuckles against the table’s surface rang out, cutting Cas off. The sting of pain came to Dean seconds later, giving him another kind of pain to focus on other than what felt like the very real breaking of his heart.

 

“That’s bullshit.” Dean retorted in wounded anger, “don’t… don’t act like you’re leaving ‘cos of me- _for_ me. ‘Cos it don’t matter how you spin this you are leaving _‘cos_ of me, aren’t you? ‘Cos I’m not enough for you, right? I’m not what you want-”

 

“You could have so much more without me-”

 

“I only want _you_. Cas,” Dean managed to drag the words out of his mouth, though failing to hold back the breathy gasps that just kept on flooding up. “I don’t know how many different ways I gotta say it. I want _you_. I only want you. What more could I-”

 

“We have been over this,”

 

Now Cas was standing abruptly, avoiding Dean’s gaze entirely and unnecessarily tidying the papers on the table. The finality of his words brought a further blow to Dean’s gut; he pressed his hand over his mouth and felt the tremble pressing back beneath his palm, dropped it away again in utter disgust at himself.

 

“I need some air,”

 

Dean felt Cas watching him as he charged across the room, flung the door open and slammed it behind him, muttering an apology under his breath for waking Sam if he was already sleeping. Knowing no better sanctuary than the Impala Dean threw himself into the driver’s seat and started the engine, pulling away from the house abruptly and staring out at the road through stinging blurred eyes.

 

***

 

Dean’s mindless drive took him away from the house for barely two hours, a small voice in his head reminding him that there was now a very real countdown to the amount of time he could spend with Cas. Cas clearly didn’t want any intimacy with him anymore if he was already talking of sleeping on the couch, but if he put in the effort then they could part at least friends if nothing else. Couldn’t they?

 

Dean hit his head back hard against the car seat in frustration, found himself flinging it back there again and again. _Friendship_ was not what he wanted from Cas, that wasn't nearly anywhere close to enough. A once hopeful dream of growing old with Cas beside him in whatever way life would throw at them revealed itself with cruel intention to him then, before fading away from him again leaving him staring brokenly back at the house.

 

A grip to the steering wheel, another thump back of his head; Dean forced himself out of the car and attempted to put on a neutral expression as he walked back inside. It lasted for all of three seconds; the sour look on Sam’s face as he glanced up from the table, looked pointedly in the direction of the couch where he assumed Cas must be then back at him, and Dean’s resolve to try and make the best of things evaporated.

 

“Don’t,”

 

Sam’s eyes narrowed at Dean’s bluntness, the disapproval on his face morphing to show concern, which was exactly what Dean didn’t want to see.

 

“I-”

 

“Leave it, okay?”

 

Sam’s sigh had Dean striding forward, reaching into the holdall still gaping open on the end of the table, rummaging until he pulled out and checked over a gun, some salt-filled bullets and a flashlight.

 

“Dean-”

 

“Gonna go over to the house. Give it another look-”

 

“We still don’t know what we’re looking for-”

 

“Yeah, well it beats sitting around here just _waiting_ for shit to go down,”

 

Before Sam’s protest was even half-formed Dean was stamping through, clenching his fists at the sight of Cas’ sleeping form, small and curled up on the couch as he passed, refused to allow himself to look back, and stomped out of the house, catching the tail-end of Sam shouting he was going out again as he slammed the door behind him.

 

In the fading sunlight the house looked normal, peaceful even as Dean walked towards it. Nothing looked out of place, or wrong; he could even half-picture happy families there running to and from the beach in the heat of the summer sun. The thought would usually make him smile, serve as a reminder of why he and Sam hunted the way they did. But in his current mood it did nothing but make him feel even more defeated, remind him of just how alone he was.

 

Dean’s palm chilled the second he touched the door handle, and he grimaced as he pushed it down and stepped inside, bracing for the blast of colder air. The house looked no different on the inside either; under his breath Dean muttered obnoxious taunts at the ghost, gun poised against the flashlight that he shone around the not quite dark enough room.

 

Dean continued muttering to himself, walking every path, checking every inch of the place, top to bottom and thoroughly throughout every corner of the house, though as Sam had pointed out, it was sort of a pointless activity when they really had no clue what they were looking for. The rational part of his mind told him their methods were more than a little sloppy this time around; not every case went smoothly or to plan of course, but this one they’d taken on a whim that was purely, at least in his case, an exercise in distraction from what was happening with Cas. Although Dean could understand it being just as much a necessary distraction for Sam as well, in his frustration at them both.

 

Dean sank down on to the couch Cas had been sat on only yesterday, letting his head drop down against its back and his arms reach out either side of him as he slumped. Eyelids heavy, he allowed them to drop for a moment, breathed out hard and shifted until comfortable, relaxed but telling himself he was still ready for any kind of movement if it were needed.

 

His mind wandered, because there was no way of stopping it. To Cas’ smile as it lit up his face, turning towards him from across the seats of the Impala. To his arms pulling Dean to sleep against his chest, with a light squeeze to pull him closer still and a soft kiss that had felt like a blessing at the time. To so many of these small moments that if Dean had known he’d not get to repeat them perhaps he’d have cherished them a little harder than he already had done.

 

Dean’s feet stretched out, ankles turned in awkwardly against the carpet until the toes of his boots touched, shifting because his back was complaining, then sinking further down into the couch. He tried to pinpoint the moments when he’d realised things weren’t as he believed between them. When the one thing that had made him so very happy and complete in his life had proved itself to be nothing but a lie.

 

Whirling fast, memories whipped by him. Trailing fingers, entwined hands, gentle moans of encouragement when they were nothing but a tangle of limbs. Presses of shoulders, the shyness of smiles; whispered confessions at three in the morning and yelled ones across car parks when the fear of losing each other had once been too much.

 

That Cas could say he loved him and yet was also walking away because he loved him Dean stopped trying to unravel the logic of. Clearly love meant something different for Cas, not this all encompassing pressing need Dean felt, that urgency he had to just _be_ around Cas that whispered like background radiation, the charge to his day, the purpose to his being.

 

Dean thought back to how many conversations they’d had about Cas leaving now, trying to work out what he could have said to make things any different, what arguments he could have given to make Cas want to stay. But, Dean realised, his entire being feeling like it was sagging under the weight of his impending loss, he couldn’t ask or make Cas stay if that was not what he wanted, if _here_ was not where Cas wanted to be, and _he_ was not want Cas wanted.

 

With a sigh Dean lifted his head, allowed his eyes to linger over the blood stain on the carpet with disinterest, glanced over curtains and shelves and the bed that seemed to take up a good portion of the room from where he sat, but actually saw nothing. He strained to hear; not a creaking floorboard nor a nail on the window to even give him a rush of adrenalin to lift him. Nothing at all to say the house was anything but an empty shell, and that he was sat here alone, wasting his time.

 

Heavy legs bent and then straightened. Dean gave the room another sweeping glance then trudged his way back out again. As he closed the door leading on to the porch and felt the temperature change, Dean could almost swear he heard a short blast of music behind him. Angry, Dean raised his hand in the direction of that bedroom window without even looking and raised a middle finger, dropping it again and coming to stand with his hands curled tight around the railings of the porch, staring across the sand as though there were a lot more of it between him and that house with Cas in, and no easy way to cross it, no way to fix anything that was wrong.

 

Defeat hit him then, nudging against his calves and dropping him to his knees, a choked out sob escaping uncontrolled as he reached and wrapped his fingers around thick wooden posts, allowing his head to drop forward and lean between them. All his frustration came howling out of him in a single loud blast, weeks of tears that he’d held back, brokenness at the thought of losing Cas assaulting him all at once, doubling him over and allowing him to weep until raw.

 

When his tears had trickled down to mere hiccups Dean rolled himself over to lean his back against the railings, shifting again until he was braced on the side of the porch where he could sit and see their house. Arms up around his knees Dean watched as the day drained from the sky until a faint light went on in what he presumed was the kitchen and was followed up by the sound of the front door slamming closed.

 

Dean thought of Sam leaving again to go on a second date. Was this someone worthy of him? Something to pass the time? A way to help with the case or a combination of all of those things? Dean couldn’t tell but neither could he find it in himself to begrudge him. It didn’t really matter at all the way he was feeling, not in the scheme of things, not when deep down, he’d always known he’d end up on his own. Sam was the one who was going to have the future, the family, the closest thing to a normal life Dean could get for him, he reminded himself, his mantra of all he wanted for Sam going some way to calm him.

 

Cruel taunts of wishful thinking drove into him then, halted conversations where he’d hinted to Cas about future thoughts, feeling as though he was exposing his very heart to him when in reality his words taken at face value barely meant anything at all. But Cas had known them, had known _him_ ; surely if anyone could see through his stumbling confessions then it would be him?

 

Maybe Cas had never really known him and that was the problem, Dean thought to himself, spinning his arguments in circles until he could feel all of the weight of blame falling squarely on his shoulders all over again, where inevitably it always seemed to belong. He had hoped for too much, he had taken too much, he had allowed himself to _believe_ in something good for himself. How Cas would ever want anything as measly and meaningless as _him_ to spend his existence with was an unfathomable thought, Dean could see that now. It was selfish holding on when Cas so clearly wanted to be gone.

 

If Cas could use love as his argument for leaving, Dean reasoned with himself then, dragging himself up on to unsteady feet, then he could use the very same argument to let him go. Cas deserved better, in fact Cas deserved so very many things. Things that Dean had no capacity in him for giving.

 

With a determined nod to himself, Dean bargained for a little sense of calmness, for the strength to face Cas as a friend willing to let him leave, without showing just how much it wounded him to have to watch him go.

 

With every stride across the sand Dean’s resolve waxed and waned, the urge to slide down on the couch beside Cas and wrap his arms around him winning out against the urge to sleep in the back of the car. But the argument flipped back again, exhausting him fully in the few minutes it took him to trudge between the two houses, until his hand was wrapped around the handle of the door and he was pushing his way back in again.

 

The blast of cold registered but didn’t hit as hard as the sight of Cas still curled up foetal-like on the couch did; from this angle it looked like Cas was hurting, shielding himself or keeping himself small to avoid the hurt of the world around him. Dean knew it wasn’t like that, however, that Cas was likely just cold. Out of habit Dean reached out and snagged the blanket up to cover him, to tuck it in so that no draughts could get to him, and the lump threatening in his throat swelling thicker the second he felt Cas’ shoulder beneath his palm.

 

Forcing his eyes away Dean turned, silent tears cascading his cheeks as he quietly climbed the stairs. A shrug out of his jeans, a half-assed brush of his teeth, and Dean was sliding beneath the duvet, tugging the pillow to his stomach and curling around it, and pulling the duvet tightly up against his mouth in the hope it would somehow muffle the sobs wracking through him all over again.

 

***  

 


	6. Chapter 6

Two bodies moving as one. Skin sliding against sheets, breath whispering over ears. Closeness and contact, belonging, _home_. Smiles so wide his jaw was aching, love so real his _soul_ felt anchored. Certainty sat right there with the slip of a palm into his.

 

Dean woke with a sharp startle, his hand instinctively stretching out across the sheets looking for that contact from his memories, his heart plummeting at the reality before him and his knees curling up even more into the pillow against his stomach on realisation that he was once again alone.

 

Resignation settled over him, tainting all thoughts grey as though smudged with the reality of his loss. Cas was leaving him. In a sense Cas had already left him, and Dean had no choice but to learn to accept that. Wallowing in it wouldn’t change that, nor would it make his remaining time with Cas any easier – for any of them.

 

Dean rolled on to his back, a couple of stray tears tickling the side of his face as they leaked a path down, though he made no effort to brush them away. He would try, god how he would try to keep himself together for however long this case lasted. For himself, for Cas, for _Sam_.

 

He’d do it, if he could, hold on to his heartache until the moment Cas walked away from him permanently. And then, Dean thought to himself as he swallowed back the urge to cry all over again, then he would allow himself to properly grieve. Find enough bottles to drain, enough roads to scorch rubber into, until maybe he'd find that he'd finally had _enough_.

 

Once Cas was gone, he’d try and search for the exact thing he’d done wrong to bring this hurt on to himself. Find where he was at fault; not in a way to make any future relationships go any better - because Dean knew with utter certainty he would never let anyone get close to him again after this - but because it mattered. If he could figure out exactly where he’d screwed up, he could use the knowledge to check himself if he ever got weak enough again to believe he deserved _good._ The vagueness of him just being _wrong_ wasn’t enough, he needed something specific to _torture_ himself with, some concrete hurt to hold on to, to remind him of the lesson that he should have known all along. Dean Winchester does not _deserve_ to be saved, he sneered at himself then, vicious and wicked as he could. Nor did he deserve to be loved.

 

Groaning at himself for being so melodramatic and forcing himself up out of the bed, Dean dragged himself into the shower using his dad's cruellest words as motivator, dressed in a daze with Sam's teasing about him having to work off several bakeries adding extra layers, gave himself one more moment to acknowledge his agony and mock himself for it before leaving the bedroom and silently making his way down the stairs. He found Cas and Sam already sat in their usual comfortable silence at the table, with Sam bent forward and doing nothing to disguise his yawns, and Cas looking drawn and pale.

 

Dean’s instincts had him want to walk up behind Cas, wrap his arms around him, press kisses into his neck, plead and reason with him all over again. Instead he mumbled a greeting at them both and made his way to the kitchen, filling a mug with scalding coffee and returning to sit down mutely at the table himself.

 

“So I got the lists,” Sam said the moment Dean was sat, sliding them across the table in a dismissive gesture that said he was too tired to look at them any longer himself. “One print of a painting, one small silver lamp, one bizarre-sounding ornament that used to be on the table beside that real tall bookcase on the back wall of the living room; that’s all that’s ever apparently gone missing from the place,”

 

Dean nodded, flicking through the papers as Sam spoke, his eyes looking more through the pages than at them.

 

“And none of the repairs seem to coincide with the deaths either. It’s…” Sam shrugged, helpless, and that movement morphed immediately into a yawn showing how tired he really was. “I don’t know what to tell you, Dean. I can’t see any fit. Maybe you can give it all the once over again, but-”

 

“No problem,”

 

Dean forced himself to focus, the words blurring back from vague patterns beyond his conscious recognition into actual words standing out to him on the page, though he still couldn't quite bring himself to concentrate on more than random single words that didn't fit together in any kind of sense. Taking another gulp of his coffee Dean glowered at himself, began skimming through the pages in silence and pausing to reread certain lines when his attention continued to wander, concentrating hard enough to fool himself into believing he was sat there alone.

 

“You know… if… if this ghost’s somehow linked to both houses… how come there’s never been any mention of any real problems here? 'sides from noises and stuff?” Sam asked after a minute. Dean didn't so much as jolt at his voice, but it did have him looking up in surprise to find anyone still at the table there with him.

 

“If whatever’s keeping them here is over in that house,” Dean mumbled with a shrug; double checking another page before pushing it to one side.

 

“Maybe it’s only got any real power over there but can… I don’t know… come visit over here?” Sam finished sounding so very doubtful Dean looked up, shrugging to show he had no clue either.

 

“We should probably salt the place at least. Lock it down a bit,” Sam continued, raising his hand up to cover his yawn.

 

“Someone had a good night…” Dean raised himself enough to tease, ignoring the sadness pressing down on his gut.

 

“Uh huh,” Sam yawned again, rolling his eyes at the half-assed effort of wriggled eyebrows Dean shot at him.

 

“Go to bed,” Dean told him with a slightly better attempt at a smile. “This place is fine,”

 

“Seems like it’s getting stronger, don’t you think?” Sam disagreed, slowly shaking his head.

 

Dean huffed, dismissive. “What makes you say that? I don’t feel any difference here to when we first walked through the door,”

 

Sam’s uncomfortable clearing of his throat had Dean looking up again from where he’d gone back to reading; as though he was waiting for Dean's attention, Sam slowly turned his gaze across the table to look at Cas, lingering there so Dean had no choice but to look him over for himself, see how awful Cas really looked. Their eyes met, a silent communication that for a moment Dean allowed himself to think showed Cas was suffering as much as he was with them now being apart. But then Cas was looking away, fingers wrapping knuckle white around his mug and his entire body squirming under the attention, and Dean was suitably reminded to stop kidding himself.

 

“I am fine,”

 

“Right,” Sam blasted at Cas' poor attempting at convincing them, rolling his eyes and stretching back from the table before bracing against it to stand.

 

“We’ll salt the place,” Dean told him, told them both; anything to bring the end to the conversation and get Sam to go and get some sleep.

 

“‘K,” Sam agreed, stretching and yawning, “gonna get a couple hours. You wanna check the emails?”

 

Dean gave a sharp nod of agreement and received an answering one back from Sam coupled with a flicker of a smile.

 

Dean listened as Sam climbed the stairs, feeling as though the air was rushing in at him in his absence. He wanted to reach across the table and grab Cas’ hand, to attempt to talk to him, even if it was just to make idle conversation. But the hurt he was feeling wouldn’t allow it, would only let him be strong enough to try to appear indifferent.

 

The second he heard Sam's bedroom door clunk closed Dean stood, gathering all the papers together into one pile again and shoving them into a file, reaching out for the laptop as well, aware Cas’ eyes were on him the entire time. He snatched up a notepad and pen, grabbed everything together and tucked it under one arm, taking his already empty coffee cup back into the kitchen for a refill. On passing back through, Dean flinched at the clearing of a throat.

 

“How are you, Dean?”

 

Dean’s feet made him shudder to a stop even though his mind urged him to keep on moving. Without turning he nodded, eyes down on the pile of work now folded up against his chest.

 

“Fine. Guess you didn’t sleep too well, huh?”

 

Cas took a while to answer and it took all Dean's willpower not to look at him as he waited. “No,”

 

“Maybe Sam’s right. Maybe we should salt-”

 

“You know my lack of sleep is not related to the ghost, Dean,”

 

A tightness settled in Dean's throat and he tried to swallow it away, shaking his head to himself. “No, I don’t know that. Maybe it's because-”

 

A dry humph of humourless laughter cut Dean off and had him whirling around unsteadily to face Cas, still slowly shaking his head as he wobbled to a stop.

 

“If you think…” Cas began, an angry frown ridging his brow deep as he looked like he was trying to put together what he wanted to say, “if you believe that this is in any way easier for me-”

 

“You _want_ to go,” Dean snapped, folding everything held in the crook of his arm tighter against his chest, his coffee in danger of splashing out of the mug. “You’re the one that _wants_ to go. How’s it not easier for you-”

 

“I _must_ go, Dean; there is a difference between doing-”

 

Dean gave an exasperated groan of dismissal, the thought of rehashing it yet again hurting far too much, choosing instead to turn away from Cas again and stalk over to the couch. He all but threw himself down on to it and in the process, almost upended his coffee over himself. Cursing under his breath Dean shoved everything in his hands down onto a cushion, put the coffee down on to the side table and opened up the laptop. He closed it rapidly again seeing no emails coming in from the mass one Sam had sent out to previous guests and grimaced to himself, sliding the pile of papers on to his lap, feet stretched out along the length of the couch.

 

Thumbing through and seeing no new information Dean sighed out hard, drained his coffee in large scalding gulps then laid down, dropping the paperwork to the floor and idly opening up the laptop against his bent knees and stomach. He looked at the spreadsheet Sam had taken from the realtor, clicking at the tabs over and over at random, seeing the same information staring back at him that he’d already read through multiple times.

 

Frowning, Dean noticed the jump in the numbers of the row as he clicked between options for _single, double_ and _family_ occupancy. He removed those filters and more still for _paid in advance_ , _booked by phone,_ and _booked by email_ , noticing an immediate shift in the rows again once he removed that last filter. More information appeared, although a quick scan through the additional rows didn't immediately seem to provide anything that gave any kind of clarity.

 

Dean groaned to himself and let his head fall back against the arm of the couch, reaching up to pinch his eyes closed. Typing with his eyes still closed to start with, Dean began another internet search on a whim deciding to see if there were any other details about the house that he could find.

 

His search told him that the house they were investigating had been purchased by the realtors in 1990, with the following summers proving so successful it had turned out to be, at least initially, one of the best investments on their books.

 

Dean read an article from the local newspaper in 1995 that talked about the success of the realtor business, and rolled his eyes at the column to the side of it entitled _Reasons to believe in love_. Apparently planning on making himself feel even worse Dean scanned through it, making retching noises at a couple of the short sugary pieces written there but reading more slowly and with misplaced melancholy over what seemed to be the feature story.

 

A call to the paper from none other than the realtor firm they were currently renting from – one of Beth's predecessors, Dean presumed – told a gushing story of a future guest at the beach house coming to stay over the summer, secretly planning the trip to bring back his wife to the place he had stolen her away to almost thirty years earlier when they were sweet sixteens and trying to convince their parents they were in love enough and old enough to get married.

 

The story continued by saying that although for obvious reasons the names were confidential the couple in question had come across the then unoccupied beach house and spent a blissfully innocent weekend on the beach by day and in the candlelit beach house by night, until the man's father had found them and forced them to come home.

 

Dean rolled his eyes, bitterly cynical at the sentiment seeming to drip from the column's words, scanned his eyes over and noted that the date of it was April 1995. With a huff to himself Dean realised that it pre-dated the first death at the property by just a few months.

 

Grabbing up Sam's earlier notes Dean nodded to himself at the confirmation of _August 1995: Jennifer Cable and Martin Hinchcliff_ he'd seen scrawled there. Another realisation that clearly this couple weren't the married couple mentioned in the newspaper column, and Dean wondered about the possibility of getting Sam to get even more information from Beth if they needed it.

 

Another sigh to himself, another random tapping at keys. Dean tabbed back and forth through the sheets for every year documented, looking for signs that there was something else they might have missed. With further acknowledgement of the date of the article and that of the first death Dean opened up the sheet for 1995 again, staring at it and silently asking for more information.

 

There were eight bookings made for that year, which, Dean noted, was a lot less than the fully booked years prior. Of those eight bookings four were families and two each were listed as single and double occupancy, the second double occupants detailed as a Simon Aylesworth and Steven Peters.

 

Dean's eyes narrowed at that since clearly back in 1995 they wouldn't have been married either, not to mention their details not correlating at all with the news column he'd just read about a husband trying to surprise his wife. The article didn't mention anything about it being a family holiday either, but he checked through the four bookings listed under family occupancy anyway, and found none of the ages would fit with the story of rekindling the romance of two sweet sixteens.

 

With a huff to himself at the sting of the word _romance_ , Dean checked over the final two bookings listed, one Dorothy Seers, who apparently unlike themselves _was_ in fact a writer and had wanted the beach house for the peace and quiet by the sea to finish her book at the time, and the second a Lieutenant Colonel Jacob Brook.

 

Dean clicked at the details, opening up further information. _Lieutenant Colonel Jacob Brook, date of birth February fifth 1951,_ Dean read, a quick calculation putting him at forty four at the time of the rental. Dean looked again, reading _one month rental, May twelfth, paid in advance and in total._

 

With another huff Dean clicked through but found no further information on Brook on the spreadsheet, so rapidly typed away again to see if he could find anything elsewhere. His title of _Lieutenant Colonel_ had Dean searching the military, and Naval records indicated a dishonourable discharge for Brook at the beginning of May 1995, details of which were vague but seemed to hint at violence towards another serving officer.

 

Further searches found details of divorce proceedings started against Brook, revealing his wife Emma had left him the week before his discharge from the Navy. It cited irreconcilable differences although from what Dean could find the divorce had never been actualised.

 

Dean frowned, went back to the Naval records and grumbled to himself when he had to retype Brook into the search bar because the page had timed out. His eyes widening, he clicked at the now limited information in front of him and gave a disbelieving laugh when he came across a date of death listed for him as seventeenth of April, 1995.

 

Looking back at the spreadsheet from the realtor, Dean checked payment records again and saw that Brook's payment for renting the beach house was made on April twenty sixth.

 

Another look back at the page for the Navy and Dean narrowed his eyes, clicking through and seeing that the death listed was actually for a Jacob Brooks _Junior_ , who had died in an apparently freak accident on base.

 

Dean tried to pull up coronary records but could find none listed, instead found himself reading yet another newspaper report. It speculated that Brook Senior had ‘died of a broken heart’, suggested that the reason for Mrs Brook's departure was the death of their only child, and hinted at the likelihood of her blaming her husband for that loss.

 

A jolt to Dean's stomach and he did yet another search, finding details of Jacob Brook Senior dying of a heart attack in May 1995, aged forty four, whilst on vacation alone at a beach house in Sandbridge.

 

And somehow those string of events – the death of a son, the loss of a wife, the loss of a career - had meant that Brook's death had been written off as a tragic conclusion to a sad family story instead of one that could be thought of as suspicious, and had therefore seemed to be a good enough reason for it being missed off of the list of those other deaths they’d discovered at the neighbouring house.

 

Dean's heart gave a thud as a thought occurred to him, leafing roughly through the itinerary lists and then standing quickly to go back through to the kitchen. His stomach gave a violent drop at seeing Cas still sat there at the table apparently doing nothing, but Dean carried on without speaking to him, searching on and under the table through piles and notebooks in case there were any other papers they'd missed.

 

His fingers stroked over a couple of sheets of paper Sam had folded over and pushed to one side on the side of the table where he'd been sat, and Dean turned away still without a single comment to go back to the couch, seeing as he'd hoped he would that they were additional itinerary lists for earlier than August 1995. And of course, as though he felt he should already have known it, Dean found that between the date of Brook’s rental of the property and the next rental following his death, the property had acquired a turntable and small selection of vinyl.

 

A sense of relief washed over Dean, a light at the end of the tunnel of at least this case being resolved. Now with a probable name for the ghost and knowing the likely source of things keeping him there, Dean had a moment of disappointment that he’d have to burn such a beautiful turntable, and a longer one laced with pain when he realised the inevitability of what would happen with Cas was now that one step closer.

 

Chiding himself for selfishness, Dean stood and trudged back across to the table, zipping up and hoisting the holdall over his shoulder and walking out again, carefully closing the door behind him so Cas wouldn’t think he was slamming it, and headed over to the house with a renewed sense of purpose.

 

***

 

Dean swung the porch door open in a determined shove, crossing to the staircase in five easy strides. Up the stairs, along the hallway, flinging the door open so hard it cracked back against the wall. Another three strides and he was at the turntable, stroking a reluctant hand over its surfaces, idly wishing again that he wouldn’t have to burn such a beautiful thing.

 

As though delaying that inevitability, Dean searched over the shelves until he saw the vinyl collection mentioned, wondering how he’d missed seeing it the first time around. With a curious smile he pulled out a section of them, realised he could take the entire pile with another few handfuls and did just that to balance them in his hands, sitting down cross legged on the floor, his reason for coming over to the house momentarily forgotten.

 

His palm smoothed over the surface of the vinyl sleeve and a calming feeling of nostalgia hit him, fond memories of listening to music at Bobby’s, being barely tall enough to reach the turntable and Bobby lifting him, showing him how to drop the needle down just right, teaching him that the automatic lever was for princesses- or if he was trying to impress the ladies by leading them in a dance and having to cue the music up.

 

Smiling at his memory shifting to one of Bobby, Dean let the vinyl fall to his lap. He found himself staring unseeingly down at it, feeling himself oddly comforted, especially when he imagined Bobby right there and yelling at him for being an idjit himself, sitting there killing time instead of doing what he needed to get the job done.

 

Indulging anyway, Dean straightened up the pile of vinyl in front of him, ones he liked to go to the left, ones he didn’t to the right. He read the backs of the sleeves, tried to guess years before he'd let himself check, a finger tracing along the edge of the song titles listed causing lyrics and melodies to pop into his head that stirred up even more memories and widened his smile a little brighter.

 

Half way down the pile and Dean heard a thud behind him, his back tensing immediately on alert. A small glance over his shoulder and finding nothing physically there, Dean went back to methodically working through the vinyls though keeping one ear cocked for further sounds, his fingers stroking across the vinyl sleeve currently in his lap and finding himself unable to resist pulling the vinyl out to take a look.

 

Tilting the sleeve to one side Dean cupped his hand around the opening to catch the vinyl, a smile dancing across his face at the sliding sound it made as it slipped from the sleeve. His eyes widened as the vinyl came out; an edge of a sheet of paper peeking out with it that he snagged on to and found was a folded in half letter along the edge that had been slid in first, tucked up inside where no one would have seen it unless they went to play the vinyl or were being nosy like he was now.

 

Dean freed the paper, unfolding and straightening it out against the vinyl, his fingers smoothing over the ridge of pen pressed hard into paper and began to read.

 

_I’ve written to you so many times now that I’ve lost count._

 

_Every time I pick up this pen and write to you I want to ask for your forgiveness, but how can you ever forgive me when I’ve done what I’ve done?_

 

 _If you know anything, I want you to remember that I loved you. That I_ _do_ _love you. And that just because I can’t be with you right now doesn’t mean I still don’t miss you every single day, that I don’t fall asleep wishing it was with you by my side. I know we didn't get to do that too often but I wish I could put into words how much I need that right now._

 

_I hope you’re laughing at me if you’re reading this; I didn’t even start this letter with so much as a ‘hello’, did I?_

 

 _So,_ _hello_ _, god: how I wish I could turn up on your porch and say that for myself, to your face, seconds before I’d literally throw myself at you, naturally. You don’t know how much I miss having my arms around you, which, I know, I pretended sometimes it wasn’t what I wanted but it was, I promise that it was. I wanted you - and I still want you. I just wish there was a way for that to be a possibility right now._

 

_Got to go now - the schedule here’s just as tough as I suppose I had imagined it was going to be. But I’ll write again soon, I promise, I won’t ever forget you, you’ll never not be on my mind._

 

 _Yours,_ _always_ _,_

 

_J_

 

Stroking his fingertips over the paper Dean read the words again twice more, gently laid the paper to one side, recognising it was something precious, and searched the sleeves for more. When he was done there was a small stack of eight letters that he began reading with a feeling of intruding on something so very private yet justifying to himself that he was still searching for answers so that they could close the case.

 

_A,_

 

_I couldn’t take much with me when I left - and god I wish I could… if I could’ve had maybe ten minutes to come and talk to you first, to explain, to try to, anyway. I don’t know that it would make any difference but I owe you that much if nothing else. Ten minutes wouldn't have been nearly enough anyway; I could spend ten lifetimes with you and I'd still feel I was missing out._

 

_I’m going off track; you hate it when I do that, I’m sorry. What I wanted to say was, I didn’t have time to take much with me when I left but… but I was making you something. Before I left; remember that bird we were watching from the table outside that little cafe that came over and stole our crumbs, and you said it understood us? I started carving it. I know it’s stupid, I know, but you seemed to like it so much, and I thought… I don’t know, I wanted you to have something else I’d made for you since you got so excited last time._

 

_It’s finished now; it’s even got that little feather you said looked like a Christmas tree branch that wouldn’t fold flat. I lay in bed, and I hold it in my fist fantasizing about handing it over to you. It's a stupid thing to be fantasizing over I know, I know it is but I miss you, god how I miss you, I never knew it would hurt like this, I’m so, so sorry, I wish… I_

 

_I should go…_

 

 _I love you. You won’t want to hear that now I’m sure but it’s true. It’s always been true. It_ _will_ _always be true._

 

_Yours,_

 

_J_

 

He could, Dean reasoned to himself for a second, burn everything as is, get it done, get gone, stop reading through something he was clearly not meant to be reading. But perhaps because of what was going on with Cas he felt himself sucked in, resonating the pain there on the paper as his own tears splashed down, not so much blurring the long-ago written words, but distorting them enough for him to have to swipe out and try to wipe them away.

 

_A,_

 

_I love you._

 

_I’ve decided I’m going to start every letter like that from now on. Because you deserve to know that, that I wasn’t lying when I said it, that I still feel it now. So when you get these letters, well, maybe I can't really ask for your forgiveness but at least it will be written here on the page, so you can see it._

 

_I wish I could see you, god how I wish I could see you._

 

_I've been here three days. Can you believe I've been here three days already? We sail for a practice today; wouldn’t it be hilarious if it turned out I got motion sickness? Give Pops something else to disown me for, huh? Not that I’ll ever speak to him again, unless I have to. Second I’m on leave I’m coming back, do you hear me? I was thinking about this last night, and I don’t care - I don’t care what happens to me but I’ve got to see you, I have to; you’re the only person I owe an explanation to for anything in my life, and I don’t care what it takes. I have to talk to you._

 

_I have to go now – but I’ll be back soon._

 

 _I love you. Please,_ _please_ _don’t forget that._

 

 _Yours,_ _always_ _if you’ll have me._

 

_J_

 

Another thud behind Dean sounding a lot closer this time; Dean would swear he could feel eyes zeroing in on the back of his neck, but curiosity stopped him from reacting other than to turn back to the pages. The one now between his fingers was crumpled so badly it had obviously been balled up in a tight fist, unscrewed several times, and there were even the telltale smudges of what had to have been tears from an earlier read. Dean glanced it over before even starting to read it for himself, noticing the way it stopped and started over many times, as though the writer didn't know what to say.

 

_A_

 

_I don’t want to believe it… I won’t, I can’t._

 

_I’m too numb to_

 

_I can’t_

 

_~~How could you~~ WHY??? _

 

_I love you._

 

 _I promised I’d tell you that every single time I wrote, and even now, even after everything, that is still true; it always_ _will_ _be true, you know that, right? I’d give my whole life to go back and do things different, to just_

 

 _You're the best thing in my whole world. You_ _are_ _. You know that, don’t you?_

 

 _First time I laid eyes on you, you caught my breath. Actually caught it, right here in my throat (I’m pointing, because you know exactly where I mean, you know_ _me_ _)_

 

_And I knew… I knew even then that we’d...that we’d fuck each other up, you know? Like… I’d never be able to… I’d never meet anyone better, you know? So fucked up but in the best kind of ways._

 

_You remember our last conversation about the future? About a day when it won’t be like this? Like everything will be okay, and we can all just be whoever we are without other people interfering? Because I do. I think about… when we sat out by that dock with our feet dangling in water as the sun was setting. Of that… circle of wet footprints we left when you pulled me up and we danced, how we slotted together so perfect you’d think we were moulded that way to fit._

 

_I love you… I love you so much and this hurts, this hurts like I don’t even have words anymore._

 

_Can you forgive me? I did this, didn’t I? I… I feel like I’m ripping apart, and I can’t, I can’t…_

 

_There’s no one I can tell about you. There’s… I love you… did you think I didn’t love you?_

 

_My heart is broken. I am broken. I can’t do this anymore._

 

_I love you_

 

_J_

 

Wiping his face with the back of his hand, Dean set the letter down on top of the others with shaking fingers, clearing his throat and closing his eyes for a second before he could bring himself to keep reading.

 

_I love you._

 

_Did you ever think I’d stop?_

 

_I’ll keep writing, I’ll always keep writing; this doesn’t change anything._

 

 _He found the first lot of these you know. Walked straight in as if he already knew where to look, dragged me out, ripped them up in the sink and set fire to them. Made me watch. Like that’s going to make any difference to how I feel about you. Like that’ll change the fact I already love you more than I’m ever gonna love anyone. I can’t love anyone else, do you understand that? You’ve ruined me for life - and I don’t mean that in a bad way either. I don’t_ _want_ _anyone else, just you. There’ll never be anyone else for me, not ever._

 

_I want to hold you, it hurts so much not having you here and I just… I don’t know if I can do this anymore._

 

_I want-_

 

A shove to his side so hard that his head struck against the floor with a hard thud a second after his shoulder hit, and Dean was rolling over on to his back, feeling dazed and sluggish. Dean reached for his side where he'd shoved a gun into his jean waistband; his arm was knocked away and his wrist very definitely pinned down by what felt like the underside of a boot. Though Dean couldn’t see anything the air around him boiled with tension. He rolled his head to the side away from his pinned wrist but it was forced back, a very definite hand around his jawline squeezing before a heaviness sat on his chest.

 

A howl filled the room, at least in his confusion that is what Dean first thought he was hearing. Straining to listen harder it sounded more like a whimpered wail of pain, frustration, anguish made manifest in one awful, gut clenching howl.

 

Dean’s fingers strained out to his free side, scrabbling to reach for any kind of weapon. His fingers found the edge of the vinyls, and the tension in the room crackled enough to make Dean feel dizzy even from where he was laid down. The invisible hand gripping his jaw slid down, Dean’s eyes widening in realisation as the hand settled around his neck and began to squeeze.

 

Dean’s fingers snagged against the edge of the vinyls and he brought them down with a crash that, were there an actual person there attacking him would have startled them enough to have thrown them off temporarily. All it seemed to do was deepen the ghost’s fury; that grip on his neck tightened, constricting his windpipe as Dean fought to gasp in some air. His face heated with the strain, and his eyes watered, with every suck in of the smallest amount of air leaving his head weaker and his vision more blurred.

 

A tighter grip for a second and then Dean was reprieved from choking, though the force with which he was rapidly picked up and tossed against the wall left him sliding and slumping down to the floor, groaning at the pain in the back of his head and his own hands clutching around his throat as though that somehow would force in more air.

 

A grip around his ankle and Dean was being dragged; his fingernails ripped and caught as he tried to get a purchase on something, kicking out and failing to hit any kind of target as he was pulled down the hallway, his shirt rucking up and the carpet burning into his back. A jolt and Dean was yelling out; his knee twisted at a painful angle and he reached his arms out frantically to brace himself at the top of the stairs, one hand firmly against the wall and the other clinging to the top banister.

 

Dean kicked and yelled again, watching his foot suspended mid air as he was pulled, his entire body from the waist down suspended awkwardly by it, his grip loosening in his sweaty palms and losing it for a second, enough to be roughly bumped down a few stairs before he could grab on to something again.

 

Gunfire rang out somewhere nearby and was followed by a howl of frustration, and the grip on him dropped instantly. Dean opened his eyes, panting and fighting for breath, the tension in his arms from holding on so tight suddenly loosening so that he slipped down a few more stairs of his own accord, only to be propped up by Cas’ hands against his chest, preventing him from slipping even further.

 

Cas’ hands were everywhere carefully checking him over, the horror on his face making Dean forget for a second why he wasn’t more pleased to see him. Dean dropped his head back against a step with a tired thump, groaning at the sting of pain there and finding his head gently lifted and cradled in Cas’ hand.

 

Dean forced himself to focus on Cas’ face, watched him form his lips into words he couldn’t make out, closed his eyes but popped them instantly open again at the feel of Cas’ lips pressing against his.

 

Startled, Dean stared back up at him unable to move, watching as Cas' jaw trembled and his face filled with such confusion until it became far too painful for Dean to look at.

 

It was Sam’s voice that brought him back; stood directly behind Cas so close that it was a wonder Dean hadn’t already seen him, staring back at him grimly with a gun in his hand and his lips pinched in quiet fury.

 

“Cas said you’d come over,” he offered as explanation, eyes searching all over Dean's face for signs that he was okay. Dean swallowed thickly against the pain in his throat, giving a single nod.

 

“Let’s get you back, huh?”

 

Sam bent to help him to his feet and between he and Cas Dean was upright, his arms thrown around their necks as his jellylike legs seemed to refuse to let him stand unaided.

 

“What happened?”

 

“He needs to rest,”

 

Cas’ angry reply to Sam’s question made Dean’s head want to explode; he closed his eyes and let it lean into Cas’ shoulder, not caring about the inappropriateness of seeking out comfort from him in that moment.

 

With Dean being nothing but dead weight, Cas and Sam tugged and pulled until Dean was out of the house, all but dragging him across the sand, and Cas physically pushing Sam away so that he could carry him into their house and up the stairs, a string of frantic questions never far from Sam's lips.

 

“Leave, Sam,” Dean heard Cas growling out seconds before he slammed the bedroom door in his face. Cas had already laid him out on the bed but now turned back rapidly to watch him, his gaze intense and pinning Dean in place. Cas continued staring for a few more seconds then disappeared into the bathroom, coming back with a hand towel dampened and using it to gently dab at Dean’s face.

 

Gentle fingers traced over his neck; Dean expected so many bruises there in the morning. He shifted and winced at the slight pain in his leg and the soreness to his back, with Cas’ eyes narrowing in to see it immediately.

 

“Cas… you don’t have to-”

 

Dean stopped speaking at the tone in Cas’ eyes, instead laid still, shifting when it was insinuated, allowing Cas to sit him up and help him lift off his shirt, listened to him grumbling at what had to be a fair few scratches to his back.

 

“Stay,”

 

Dean nodded at Cas’ command, sitting unmoving as Cas disappeared from the room. He listened as Cas ran down the stairs, to muffled voices that told him he was speaking to Sam, and then to Cas returning, the small first aid kit they kept in each of their holdalls now firmly in his grip.

 

Careful application of antiseptic cream, Cas’ hand curled around Dean’s arm to hold him in place, his other delicately raising Dean’s arm in a light grip around his forearm to inspect his wrist. Dean was relieved to see nothing but some redness there as he rolled it; Cas reached out to stop the rolling by gripping on to Dean’s fingers with his free hand and pulling it closer until he was pressing soft kisses over his reddened wrist.

 

Dean’s eyes pooled at the gesture; Cas climbed on the bed beside him and took him into his arms, and Dean nestled into him, wrapping his arms tightly around his shoulders and crying quietly into his neck. Cas didn’t move, just held on to him in silence, his palm stroking reassuringly down Dean's sides to avoid the rawness of his back. When Dean’s tears and hiccups had slowed, Cas pulled back a fraction and pressed a kiss to his temple and stood.

 

Without conscious thought Dean reached out and snagged their fingers together. Cas looked down at their joint hands in silence, his face showing no expression that Dean could read.

 

“Were you injured anywhere else?”

 

Dean shook his head, straightening his knee and realising the pain wasn’t too bad, and knowing he didn’t want to tell Cas about it in case he thought this was Dean’s warped way of offering himself up to him to get him to stay.

 

“I think you should sleep. I apologise that I cannot do more to heal you. It appears that only works on myself now,”

 

Dean didn’t have the chance to comment; out of what felt like nowhere Cas pressed painkillers into Dean’s palm and handed him a glass of water that he drank back greedily and had plucked from his fingers so that he wouldn’t have to lean to put it on to the side.

 

“Sleep,” Cas repeated, unmoving until Dean gingerly laid himself down. Cas lifted the duvet, tucking it in around him before dragging a chair beside the bed, tangling their fingers together and watching him.

 

Dean ached to pull Cas into the bed beside him, to curl around him and hold on, forget the evening, forget everything that was happening. Instead he stared back at Cas as though he could tell him everything he was thinking with a simple look, until his eyelids grew too heavy and sleep came to claim him.

 

***

 


	7. Chapter 7

Stubble brushing back against his neck followed by the catch of teeth against his skin; Dean moaned against the sensation and lifted his legs a little higher, tilting up his hips to encourage Cas to sink into him even deeper.

 

A groan in his ear; Cas raising his head to kiss him bruisingly as he shifted enough to allow him to lift Dean’s legs higher still, angle him wider open, circle his hips in the way he knew would have Dean crying out.

 

Dean looked up to see the determined glint in his eye and babbled out an, _oh fuck_ to himself that had Cas’ lips twitching up into a wicked grin. Shifting himself a little, Cas snapped his hips in exactly the same spot again, and again, his eyes half closed in lust watching the expressions on Dean’s face with every strike.

 

Dean called Cas’ name out, his voice cracked and weak; Cas gave one harder snap of his hips and held it, grinding up inside him until Dean was arching up and stuttering. Cas looked down at Dean’s cock, leaking and straining up between them, circling his hips slowly and watching with a slow smile creeping wider at the way it bobbed and twitched.

 

Dean followed Cas’ gaze to look down at himself, attempting to work his hand there to get some kind of relief; Cas bat it away sharply and pulled out of him with no warning, ducking down between his legs and flicking his tongue out over his head before swallowing him down.

 

Dean called out his name in desperation, rolling up and winding his fingers tightly in the sheets as he watched Cas’ mouth on him. Cas clamped his lips harder around Dean’s base and pulled up his length slowly, pulling off with a teasing chuckle at the broken whimper Dean responded with.

 

With his eyes firmly on Dean’s, Cas slid his mouth down over his head again, hooking it in place with his bottom lip as he darted out his tongue along his slit in kitten licks that had Dean stuttering and shuddering. And again without any warning Cas was up on his knees and sliding back into him, smiling and kissing into his neck as Dean’s head fell back against the pillow with an exhausted groan.

 

Bracketing Dean’s face between his elbows Cas kissed him slow, giving rumbling hums of approval with every slow thrust into him. Dean reached up to slide his hands over his back, answering that approval with little stuttered grunts of his own.

 

Cas shifted up a little higher to watch him, holding his gaze until Dean was unable to look away. And with their eyes locked Cas picked up his pace, sliding into him as though to hit every perfect angle, determination setting in his face as he stroked into Dean showing no sign of letting up.

 

Dean’s voice cracked out in a series of desperate stutters, feeling himself building with every thrust. Cas rolled down a little so that he could kiss him and in doing so trapped Dean's cock between their stomachs; that tiny amount of friction had Dean arching up and coming with a long, shuddering groan.

 

Cas nipped at his jaw with a smirk, thrust into him a little harder for a few more strokes before collapsing on top of him with a moaned kiss against Dean’s ear as he came. They huddled closer together, Dean’s arms wrapped tightly around Cas’ back as their breath evened, pressing kisses where they could reach until both had calmed.

 

Dean smiled at the soft kiss Cas gave him as he withdrew himself, stretching languidly as he roughly wiped them both down and flopped down beside him with a huff. Dean rolled himself over and pressed a hand against Cas’ lower back which he wriggled against as he shuffled back towards Dean, and Dean spent several minutes just watching Cas rest, face down on his pillow, eyes closed, arms by his sides.

 

“You are watching me,” Cas mumbled without moving; Dean beamed at him anyway and hummed to himself.

 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“You used to complain when I watched over you,” Cas pointed out with a tone bordering on grumpy that had Dean’s smile splitting.

 

“Yeah, well. I was dumb,”

 

A second of smile flitted over Cas’ lips and he shifted with an expression on his face Dean decided was smug.

 

“Perhaps I would word that differently,”

 

“Word it however you want if you’re gonna keep doing that to me,”

 

This time Cas’ lips twitched up in a full blown grin that Dean was helpless against leaning in and kissing.

 

“I will if you continue to feel that good,”

 

“Oh,” Dean laughed, rolling towards him a little closer and pressing a kiss against his shoulder, “So when I can’t keep up you’re gonna, what. Find yourself another hunter to play with?”

 

“You are the only hunter I wish to ‘play with’, Dean,”

 

Dean bit back the laugh at feeling Cas’ fingers twitch down by his leg in his air quotes.

 

“Well lucky for me - and you, I guess, that I got a good few years in me yet, huh?”

 

“It is most fortunate, yes,”

 

Cas cracked an eye open at him then, looking full of mirth as he shuffled closer still, his hand wrapped lazily around Dean’s hip.

 

“You ever miss heaven, Cas?”

 

Cas’ raised eyebrow showed his surprise at Dean’s change of subject. Though it didn’t feel sudden to Dean; it was a question never far from his lips on the days where he doubted himself, where he still couldn’t believe his luck that he had Cas here with him.

 

“On occasion,”

 

“What do you miss?”

 

“It is difficult to explain. It is… a very different kind of existence. There is certainty, structure. Not the chaos that is humanity,”

 

“We’re the good kinda chaos though, right, Cas?”

 

A soft smile and Cas was leaning in, kissing him all over again.

 

“Yes,”

 

“Ever wish you could go back and visit sometimes?”

 

“It is always possible for me to go back, Dean,”

 

Dean’s surprise must have been written all over his face; Cas glanced over him and rolled his eyes, offering up another smile.

 

“Dean. We are a collective conscious, in some ways always connected. It is… I suppose, broadly speaking, it is no different than returning to a family here on Earth and being accepted back in,”

 

“So what. You just… say you’re sorry and you can go back? Just like that?”

 

“More or less,”

 

Dean let a huff escape his lips, an unsettled feeling beginning to stir in his gut.

 

“Do you wanna? Go back I mean?”

 

Dean raised his hand enough to press his fingers lightly against Cas’ sternum, feeling the steadiness of his chest rising and falling.

 

“Cas?”

 

“We will both go to heaven one day, Dean,”

 

“I’m not talking about _one day_. I’m talking- I’m talking about _now_. Before then,”

 

“When it is time, I will go,”

 

That unsettled feeling stirred cold in Dean then, trickling through him and wrapping around his heart, squeezing it into a thud.

 

“And when’s that?”

 

“When it is the right thing to do,”

 

Dean rolled himself forward over Cas instantly, kissing him insistently and knowing the way his heart was pounding Cas could probably feel it against his own chest. When Cas’ hands lifted so very slowly to wrap around him Dean’s heart pound even faster, and the fact that Cas kissed back so reluctantly made Dean double his efforts to be even more thorough.

 

“Don’t leave me, Cas,” Dean heard the plead in his voice but couldn’t regret it, staring Cas down until his eyes dropped away, troubled.

 

“I-”

 

“Don’t. _Don’t,_ ”

 

A mask of something unreadable settled on Cas’ face then, as he leaned up and kissed Dean softly then slid his hands down his sides, pressing so Dean would know to let him up.

 

“Cas-”

 

“Join me in the shower?” Cas cut him off instantly, leaning down and silencing him with a kiss before straightening back up with an extended hand.

 

Dean swallowed with difficulty, eyeing that hand with mistrust, reaching out for it slowly and watching as it was pulled away from him, fading out of sight.

 

Dean sat bolt upright, the tendrils of his memory-come-dream clinging to him as reality snapped back through his senses and his vision cleared enough for him to find himself in the bedroom, another crashing wall of images toppling down on him from the night before.

 

Even more of a surprise to Dean was that Cas was still there with him, sat in that same chair beside the bed with his hand still curled in Dean’s. Dean looked down at their hands, seeing how they fit so exactly together, daring himself to squeeze his fingers and terrified that if he did Cas might pull away.

 

Cas raised his own eyes up from looking at their hands, staring back at Dean with that same careful expression Dean remembered wickedly vivid from his dream, the same expression that he’d had more or less ever since that horrible, horrible conversation.

 

They were still staring at each other both unable to speak when Sam appeared in the doorway, clearing his throat awkwardly and knocking on the door to get their attention. Dean watched Cas slowly turn his head in Sam’s direction before looking in reluctance himself.

 

“Sorry. Morning,” Sam blurted out, his gaze falling down on their joined hands and Dean recognising the hopeful look in his eyes, acknowledging it sending a jolt of unpleasantness through his stomach. “How’re you feeling?”

 

“Like I got my ass handed to me,” Dean croaked out, his free hand instantly reaching for his own neck, fingertips gently seeking out the bruises he knew were forming or already formed.

 

“I will get you something to drink,”

 

The immediateness of Cas’ withdrawal had Dean have to catch himself before reaching out for him to beg him to stay, but Cas was already up and brushing past Sam on his way out. Sam turned to stare after him for a couple of seconds before snapping his head back around to Dean and attempting to school in his look of concern.

 

Dean couldn’t sit still under the weight of that look and started dragging himself up out of the bed. “I’m gonna take a shower, go check myself over for damage,”

 

“Dean wait-”

 

“I’ll be down in a few,”

 

Dean didn’t wait to see if Sam understood his dismissal, stepping into the bathroom and his eyes immediately zooming in on his throat. Sure enough there was the grip of fingers beginning to bruise there, as well as a mottled chain-like pattern in a perfect circle around his neck that Dean knew spoke of a rope.

 

With a grimace he stepped out of his boxers, thankful that his wrist was only a little painful and that though his knee was a touch swollen it wasn’t anything unmanageable. A final glance over his shoulder to inspect the wounds on his back; some bruises from the stairs, a couple of long scratches from being dragged, and an area of light friction burn from the same had him sighing to himself, rolling his shoulders and looking away again.

 

A quick shower and Dean felt sufficiently revived, but stepping back into the bedroom and seeing a cup of steaming tea which he knew without a doubt Cas had made and probably spooned a tonne of honey in did nothing but make his stomach drop.

 

Dean crossed the room, wrapped his fingers around the mug and took a deep breath at the lemon smell, closing his eyes to memories of other times when Cas had brought him such a drink when he had been sick.

 

Attempting to force those bittersweet thoughts away Dean made himself sit down on the edge of the bed to drink it, breathed steady for a few minutes so he could at least try to appear calm, and made his reluctant way downstairs.

 

***

 

The smoothness of the polished wood of the staircase bannister caressed Dean’s fingertips though did little to help with the sudden rush of dizziness he felt as he took the final step down, catching and straightening himself up in time for Sam not to notice as he stepped back into the room.

 

“Hey, you’re down,” The eagerness of Sam’s voice was comforting to Dean as he watched him disappear for a second, returning with a plate of food for Dean and sliding it down on the table for him alongside a mug of coffee.

 

Shooting Sam a grateful smile Dean sat down gingerly, forcing his way through the meal with no appetite for it at all, and his throat stabbing and tender with every bite. Sam sat down beside him and Dean was grateful for the solidarity it, his worried stare somehow easier to deal with when Sam wasn’t towering over him to do it.

 

“He sat with you. All night. I came to check on you a couple of times and he was sat in that chair just… watching you. I don’t think he moved,” Sam said after a pause to apparently just stare at him again without any need for speaking.

 

Dean hummed noncommittally though the information stuck in his throat, making it even harder to swallow around his food.

 

“You know if you guys could just talk-”

 

“Not now Sam-”

 

“But-”

 

“I said not now,”

 

Fiery flickers of pain seared in Dean's throat with his answering growl, leaving him grimacing and dropping his cutlery to clutch at his throat then bunched up his hands in tight fists against his thighs.

 

Dean looked up in time to catch Sam’s lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line that Dean tore his eyes away from looking at because of the accusation he knew was lurking there behind them.

 

“I just… I hate to see you guys like this,”

 

“I know,” Dean wanted to tell Sam how much he hated them _being_ like they were, but the words stuck in his throat along with the pain of swallowing and he just ended up scraping up another forkful of food to force into his mouth, wincing the entire time.

 

“You… you were so happy-”

 

“Yeah well things change, huh, Sammy?” Dean’s tone dropped to a soft, broken murmur, revealing his true sadness at the situation without him having to actually announce it.

 

“If you just-”

 

“You know he’s leaving me. Right?”

 

Wide, bewildered eyes stared back at him. Dean’s heart gave a painful bang at the words finally spilling from his lips after holding on to them tightly for so long, cursing himself for letting his weariness get the better of him and allowing the truth to escape.

 

“Yeah.” Dean said with a twist of a smile, taking in the growing horror seeping across Sam’s face. “ _He’s_ leaving _me_. Says when this case is over he’s gonna go- I don’t know where, I don’t even think he knows, but you know. Prob’ly Upstairs,”

 

Dean felt and heard the way his voice cracked on that last word, the pain of it not even a glimmer of that constant ache in his heart at the thought of Cas being out of reach in heaven and Dean never being able to see him, touch him, _be_ with him again. It was enough to make him want to curl into himself all over again, to climb the stairs and close the door to this raw exposure he could do nothing about.

 

“What happened?” Sam’s voice was so small, so dejected, that Dean for a minute got the distinct impression that _he_ was hurting _him_.

 

He tried to find the words, still failing to know the reasons. That Cas was going and that he was going because of him- _for_ him, apparently, that was about as much as Dean had achieved getting his head around. But the whys, the reasons, the facts and his faults involved, for those specifics he was still clueless, despite spending so much time repeatedly going over it all in his head.

 

The sadness he felt then was overwhelming; cutlery clattering loud and jarring as Dean dropped it down against his plate for a final time and shoved it away, no longer able to even attempt to eat the food there.

 

“Honestly? I don’t know. He’s… he’s given me a bunch of crap about… about doing it _for_ me.” Dean closed his eyes, asked himself to hold it together. But with the way his jaw had already begun trembling he knew his control wasn’t going to last. “So I can get what I really want. So I can... I- I don’t know, Sammy, I… I musta done something, said something. I gotta… he’s-”

 

“Have you tried-”

 

“Please don’t ask me if I’ve tried _talking_ to him, Sammy,” Dean whispered, his voice cracking on every second word as he shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes. “I’ve tried nothing _but_ talking. He just… closes up, walks away from me. Tells me it’s for my own good,”

 

“But… he’s _here_ ,” Sam said, shaking his head in disbelief, “He’s… he’s _stayed_ ‘cos of you,”

 

“Yeah, well apparently it was only ever temporary,” Dean laughed, cold and mockingly at himself. “Never intended it to… I don’t know. Let it get outta hand,”

 

“ _...never intended to walk on the Earth indefinitely…”_

 

Dean jolted at the sudden reminder of Cas’ exact words, his skin clamming up and his heart beginning to stumble over itself in protest.

 

“How’s it out of hand when you love each other?”

 

“He doesn’t, Sam.” Those tears trickled down from Dean’s eyes then uncontrolled, Dean sniffling what he knew had to sound pathetically as Sam watched him back in clear discomfort.

 

“He says…” And Dean had to clear his throat, wincing as he did, before he could get enough strength to carry on, “He says it’s ‘cos he… _that_ … ‘cos of _that_ … that’s why he’s gotta go. I don’t… I don’t get it… I don’t get any of it… I don’t even know what I’ve _done_ ,”

 

Dean had thought he’d outcried himself by now, but on that final wailed out word he found himself curling forward, the pain of losing Cas stabbing him over and over until he was all but weeping uncontrollably, knowing Sam was staring at him helpless just a foot away from him and not being able to do a single thing to rein it in.

 

“I’m losing him, Sam. I’ve already lost him. I-”

 

“He sat there,”

 

Dean listened to the dumbstruck confusion in Sam’s voice as he tried to make sense of what Dean was telling him, and it was enough to make him cry all over again.

 

“He… sat there. All night holding your hand, Dean. He wouldn’t let me anywhere near you. He… carried you upstairs… took care of you. How- how’d he do all of that if he didn’t… if he didn’t-”

 

“Prob’ly just looking out like he always does,” Dean snuffled back in reply, bringing his fingers up to press into his eyes and wincing at the sting there from so very many tears. “He’s… he’s a good guy, Sammy. Don’t matter what’s happening ‘tween us now, don’t make it any less true,”

 

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do here, Dean,”

 

Sam sounding so uncharacteristically lost bought a mockery of a smile to Dean’s face all over again.

 

“Yeah,” Dean laughed, cold, and at himself, “well, you and me both,”

 

“I thought-”

 

Dean stood up suddenly, needing to put a distance between them before he broke any more than he already had.

 

“Dean-”

 

“Thanks for the food-”

 

“Dean,”

 

At Sam’s careful hand around his arm Dean crumbled, allowing Sam to prise the plate from his fingers and come to stand in front of him until their chests were almost bumping. Dean felt himself nodding forward without any control over it, desperate for comfort and desperate not to need it, his head dropping and dropping until he was pressing his forehead against the plane of Sam’s shoulder and curling his fists up tightly by his sides, a single choked sob pressed there against Sam’s shirt.

 

Sam gingerly raised his hands up, so obviously unsure of what to do with them that it made Dean smile tiredly all over again, and it was just enough for him to calm for a second, long enough to stand upright and push himself away.

 

“Dean-”

 

“Honestly, Sammy-”

 

“I-”

 

“I know,”

 

Though Dean didn’t know; not what Sam was thinking, what he himself was feeling, or doing, or much of anything at all.

 

“I’m… sorry, Dean,”

 

The lost, helpless reply Sam gave had Dean curling up his fists all over again, but he nodded, grabbed the plate up again and headed to the kitchen, taking a long time to wash up that one single plate as Sam came to lean against the counter beside him and continue staring.

 

“Yeah, well, me too,” Dean offered when he felt just enough control in his voice to do so, smiling in a way he knew was wistful. “Kinda figured… kinda figured this was it. _He_ was it. And now-”

 

“But you could still-”

 

“I can’t, Sam,”

 

Dean’s jaw trembled with the effort of holding back a fresh burst of tears.

 

“I can’t,” he whispered, shaking his head, hurting so hard that it curved his spine, forcing him to hunch down over his stomach. “I can’t, I just… I can’t,”

 

Sam stared back at him, looking so desperate to have some kind of solution it was like looking back at his baby brother pleading with him for all the answers when he had not a single one to give.

 

“How ‘bout I fill you in on what I figured out yesterday, huh? ‘Bout the case?” Dean offered as a compromise for changing the subject, for both of their sakes. At Sam’s obviously reluctant nod he did just that, from going over the spreadsheet, to realising who the ghost was, to going over to the house himself and looking through the vinyl.

 

“And I was reading the letters and-”

 

“I burned ‘em,”

 

An odd twist of mourning hit Dean dull, and he tried to figure out the reason for it but couldn’t really pinpoint why he felt like that. “You did?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam’s voice showed his doubt at the tone of Dean’s reply; Dean felt himself nodding as though it was okay, though silently regretted he’d not had the chance to read them all through. Not so much as to help with the case, Dean realised, surprising himself, more that he wanted to know more of the story. Throwing himself into someone else’s obvious heartache so he wouldn’t have to focus on his own, he supposed, gritting his teeth and angry with himself for the thought.

 

“And? Anything changed since?”

 

Sam shrugged, gave a slow shake of his head. “No different over here. And we salted everything up so-”

 

“What happened yesterday?”

 

Sam flexed his hands out, showing he didn’t understand the question. “How’d you-”

 

“How’d you know I was over there?”

 

A low, whistled breath and Sam’ was dropping his eyes. “I told you. Cas. He- he came to wake me up. Said you’d been over at the house more than an hour and he was getting worried. I… told him to wait- figured you’d hate us babying you,”

 

Dean waved away the apology in Sam’s words, urging him to go on and feeling a pain he couldn’t settle on a name for at the thought of Cas being concerned for him.

 

“Anyway. We salted this place up, put some iron out, waited it out about another… half hour maybe. Headed over-”

 

“Got to me right in time,” Dean finished with a small, grateful twist of a smile. “Thanks, man,”

 

“If we’d come over when Cas wanted to-”

 

“It don’t matter now,”

 

“Who’d… who’d you reckon the letters were to?”

 

“No idea. Kinda weird,” Dean frowned, shaking his head. “Whoever _A_ was… sure wasn't his _wife_ though, huh? Seemed… I don’t know. Like… like letters to someone… someone I… I guess _younger_ ? Maybe- maybe it was some girl Brooks lost before he met his wife? Which makes no sense either actually, considering they were supposedly _childhood sweethearts_ and all,”

 

Dean gave Sam a brief breakdown of what he’d read, with Sam swiftly agreeing at the mystery of it, then sighed yet again at not having the rest of the letters to read.

 

“Cas go out somewhere?” Dean asked then with a sudden clench to his stomach, angry at himself for only just noticing his absence, too lost in his own misery to think of much else at all.

 

Sam’s careful breath, slight tensing of posture, defensive set of his jaw told Dean instantly where Cas was and had him rigid with fear in a heartbeat.

 

“He’s sick, Sam,” Dean complained, already turning away from him with a twist of fear in his gut. “Whatever this ghost is it’s affecting him-”

 

“He said he wanted to go over by himself, maybe try and figure out how it’s affecting him. See if- if with the letters gone he’d-”

 

“The vinyl and player, Sammy; that was Brooks’ stuff too, that’s what was left in the house, not just the damn letters,”

 

Panic settled cold on Dean’s chest shoving away all the other feelings fighting to surface. Dean bent to the bag on the end of the table and drew out a gun, shoved a handful of salt-loaded bullets into his jean pocket and stalked across the room, yelling for Sam to follow in an hour if he didn’t come back.

 

***

 


	8. Chapter 8

Dean’s heart bounced against his throat the entire way over to the house, the effort to stop himself running overwhelmed after only a couple of steps because of his exhaustion. He tripped up on to the porch and took a hasty look up to the bedroom window, finding it as undisturbed and unassuming-looking as the day before.

 

The blast of coldness when he opened the door had him stagger back a step, the chill to his skin registering a good few degrees colder than they’d already experienced in the house on previous visits. With a sick feeling swirling through him Dean charged up the stairs, rounding into the bedroom and sagging in relief to see Cas sat on the couch.

 

His relief didn’t last long; Cas’ head lifted slowly at the sound of Dean's footfall, his eyes thick with absolute fatigue, the drawn paleness of his face having Dean charge across the room. The moment he knelt down in front of Cas the air was filled with the crackle of static, and they both jolted fiercely when that crackle was met by another coming from the turntable whirring to life, the soft skip of the spinning vinyl sounding so innocently misplaced against the closed in feeling seeping in around them.

 

Eyes wide they stared at each other for a second; Dean noticed then how hard Cas was stirring and straining to move. The angle he was in suggested an unmoveable weight across his lap pressing him in place; Dean slid his hand over Cas’ knee to try to focus his attention when the glazed look in Cas' eyes made Dean horrifyingly aware of how he kept fading out on him.

 

“Dean,” he trembled out, his hands limp by his sides, though the tension across his shoulders revealed just how desperately he was still trying to move himself. Dean slid both of his hands up over Cas' lap noticing the change of temperature there and winced over at the turntable as the volume rose and fell, the vinyl span too fast and the noise coming out of the speakers was thin, jarring, not even a poor imitation of the original sound.

 

Dean was overwhelmed by sounds. Footfall behind them, knocks to the walls, the atmosphere closing in audibly like the settling in of a storm; that anguished wailing he had heard just the day before continued to peak and trough from vague suggestions of locations around the room, and Cas letting out a soft painful moan as another shade of colour visibly drained away from him.

 

“Gonna get you out of here,” Dean promised, rising to his feet and trying to drag Cas up with him as he stood. Cas was dead weight; Dean’s hard grip around his arms doing nothing to even budge him, and Cas’ hopeless mournful raise of his eyes to him had Dean’s heart pounding even harder than all that was stirring up around them.

 

“Brook,” Dean yelled, trying to sound aggressive, full of command, whirling about the room searching for somewhere to aim his anger. “Colonel Brook. I know who you are. I know. And maybe I don’t know why you’re doing this but you’re gonna-”

 

The brutality of what felt like an elbow to his jaw followed by him being flung across the room again had Dean disoriented and unbalanced. Shaking his head to clear it Dean dragged himself back to his feet in Cas’ direction, only to have another blow to his head that sent him reeling and rolling over on to his back. His eyes fell on the gun he’d abandoned to the floor by Cas’ feet, and the fruitless strain of Cas trying to slide his leg over towards it had Dean rolling himself over again with another groan of determination and began to drag himself forward.

 

“Brook,” he tried again; a blunt strike to his stomach and he was heaving, the acid rising and stinging against his already delicate throat. He kept crawling, kicked again to the side the closer he got to Cas, pausing each time to get a little breath back before starting up all over again, his only thought of getting to Cas.

 

A particularly harsh blow had Dean doubled over on his knees, trying to prop himself up on his forearms as a surge of sickness rolled through him. The music sped up as he retched, a high pitched screech of noise that had them both wincing, Cas groaning and slumping forward and looking to pass out at any moment.

 

Dean pitched, rolled to the side, changed direction. With clawing fingers he dragged himself up the unit where the turntable was sat until he was gripping to it fiercely to help him stay stood upright, and with another surge of adrenaline yanked it out of the shelf space, socket and all, hurling it across the room with the dull thud of the wood of its casing colliding with the wall sounding feeble compared with the force of Dean's throw. The turntable dropped to the floor, the vinyl jumping up at the suddenness of the movement, and the crackling intensity in the air around them blinked out.

 

Dean clung on to the shelves desperately for another second, then he was stumbling forward at Cas’ bending over, head past his knees, fingers dangling lifelessly to the floor. In panic Dean reached out and gripped his arms; Cas stirred against him with a moan and managed to stutter out for Dean to give him a moment.

 

Gritting his teeth Dean crossed the room and gathered up the vinyl scattered over the floor from the day before. Piling it neatly and tucking it under his arm he crossed back to the other side of the room and picked up the now-damaged record player, bending awkwardly to pick up the cable to wrap it around.

 

A soft, hollow rattle came from inside the player as he picked it up; Dean frowned, gave it a shake and heard the rattle again. Turning it over Dean could see that the panelling had once been roughly unscrewed. Sinking to the floor Dean pulled a knife from the waist of his jeans and shoved the blade tip in the tiny gap of opening, forcing it in further and cranking the knife sideways until there was a crack and a deep gash appeared in one side of the wood, the panel flying off to fall to the carpet.

 

Dean pocketed the knife, turned the player back over and shook it; a couple of tries and something tapped against his knee, made another muffled tap as it rolled to the carpet next to the panel. Dean scrabbled his hand out, fist closing around a small wooden object that seemed near weightless as he scraped it up. Raising and flexing his palm Dean reached out with a curious finger to stroke a full circle over a smoothly polished wooden ring.

 

Continuing his sweep over its surfaces, Dean took in the simple shaping and noted not a single mark on the ring. He’d half expected to find Brook’s initials carved there somewhere along the band but there was nothing to give it any kind of identification. Dean grit his teeth all over again and gripped the ring tightly against his palm as he gathered up the abandoned vinyl and player.

 

“You… you gonna be okay for a minute, Cas? Just gonna- just gonna go burn this stuff,”

 

Dean waited for Cas to give a slow nod then dragged himself from the room and out of the house, walking around to the small garden area to stack the player and vinyl down on the ground there. A rummage in the garage of the house and Dean had himself a makeshift shovel, digging down with it just enough to drop everything in to a small pit. He threw in everything, taking the ring from the shirt pocket he’d wedged it in for safekeeping, then upended the bullets full of salt until they were empty.

 

For a moment Dean wondered if it would be enough, but the thought of leaving Cas in the house any longer made the decision for him, and Dean flicked his lighter open, starting a small fire, crouching over it as he mumbled at and willed it to catch.

 

The wind wasn’t strong, but was gusty enough not to allow that to happen; Dean grit his teeth in frustrated disappointment and forced himself upright, going back inside and climbing up the stairs again. Without any words he dragged Cas to his feet, slung his arm around his shoulders and helped him walk out, silently taking him back across the sand and into the house, watching as he sank down onto the couch with a thankful thud.

 

Instinctively Dean ducked down, pressed a kiss to his forehead as he cupped his face, bending more to kiss him on the lips before either Cas or his own brain could protest against it. Sam rounded the corner seconds later, clearly brought running by the noise of their entrance. His eyes grew wide with alarm to see Cas awkwardly sprawled out on the couch and Dean curled over awkward on his knees beside him.

 

“What happened?”

 

Dean didn’t have the energy to make sarcastic remarks about Sam’s kneejerk, pointless question, but he turned his head to look up at him and the tiredness he felt was clearly all over his face, answering the question for him.

 

“Gotta go back. Gonna burn-”

 

“I’ll do it,” Sam offered at once, already turning and coming back in with a holdall in his hand.

 

“Round the back,” Dean mumbled out, his eyes already turned back to Cas’.

 

Sam walked out without further prompting leaving Dean and Cas staring at each other, breathing in each other’s air.

 

“Will you… lay with me?”

 

The quiet, desperate plea in Cas’ voice took Dean by surprise, but he braced himself against the couch cushions and nodded, shifting to move. Cas rolled to his side giving Dean room to lay down beside him. His arms closed around him and Dean tucked himself in beneath Cas’ chin, one hand trapped between them that he was sure would go numb sometime soon, and the other gripping hard around his waist.

 

The fluttering rise and fall of Cas’ chest had Dean gripping harder; a moment later Cas’ nose was pressing into his hair, and Dean was sure he felt the shudder of him trying to hold back a sob. Dean tried to shift to look but Cas’ grip grew tighter, forcing Dean to bury himself a little closer and listen to the uneven pounding of Cas’ heart.

 

***

 

When Dean woke he was sure a good amount of time had passed. He kept his eyes closed, concentrating on the gentleness with which Cas stroked small circles into his back, storing it up for a memory he knew he would torture himself with long after Cas had gone.

 

The reality that the case was now over hit him hard with that reminder. His heart sped up at how very close he was to losing Cas forever and his fingers gripped hard as though he thought he could keep him there if he just held on tight enough. A sob escaped his mouth; Cas bent down pressing a soothing kiss to the top of his head that didn’t do anything to help.

 

“I don’t want you to go,” Dean begged, his tears making his voice ragged and the way he cried it into Cas’ chest echoing out dull there. “I don’t want you to go,”

 

“Dean,”

 

Dean heard _goodbye_ , and _sorry_ , and _don’t make this any harder_ in Cas’ grouching out of his name, and buried himself impossibly closer to him.

 

“Please,”

 

“I must-”

 

“You don’t-”

 

“I _must_ , Dean,” Cas insisted, his voice cracking just enough for Dean to allow himself to believe perhaps this was as difficult for Cas as he had been telling him it was.

 

“Tell me what I did wrong,”

 

“Dean-”

 

“Tell me. Tell me so I can fix this. Please, Cas, I need-”

 

Cas cut off Dean’s words with a tightened hug, and Dean took the small amount of comfort he could from hearing the way Cas’ heart lurched in his chest. Defeated acceptance crept through Dean all over again, and tears sprung from him unchecked, with Dean telling himself the dampness he felt on his hair from Cas’ own tears meant _something_ , even if that something wasn’t the thing he wanted most to happen.

 

Dean thought he heard Sam’s footsteps at one point, imagined him standing there watching them curled around one another on the couch and feeling optimistic. The thought of that ripped another sob from his gut, and Cas squeezed him yet again the moment he felt it ripple through him.

 

A little later still and Dean forced himself to pull away, wriggling out from the warmth of Cas’ arms and standing straightaway so he couldn’t let himself fall back in them. Dean roughly swiped over his face to remove the last of the tears there, forced a watery smile on to his face.

 

“How ‘bout I cook us something tonight, huh? One… one last meal together before…”

 

But Dean’s voice broke on his own words, shaking his head rapidly as Cas shifted to sitting and reached out for him. Dean grabbed his hands, squeezed them briefly and stepped back again out of his grasp.

 

“Can we have that? If nothing else? Just… you, me… Sam. One night. One more night, act like we’re normal?”

 

“We have never been _normal_ , Dean,” Cas replied, dragging himself upright and standing so close to Dean it made him blast out a teary gasp.

 

“Can we pretend? Can… can you at least give me that? _Please_ , Cas,”

 

Cas studied him for a moment before giving a slow nod, and a second later they fell into a desperate hug, holding on to each other tight.

 

***

 

False cheerfulness stretched the air between them long into the evening. Empty laughter at attempted jokes, reminiscences trailing away unfinished into quiet sadness, until eye contact was impossible and the only sound to be heard was the scrape of beer bottles against the table and the slap of cards there as they played a half-hearted game of something to pass the time.

 

“So we can be out of here by… ten tomorrow?” Dean announced eventually, the urge to be up alone in his room competing with his need to spend these final few hours with Cas.

 

“Tomorrow?” Sam repeated with surprise, looking at Dean properly for the first time in what had to be over an hour.

 

“No point in sticking around if we’re done here, is there?”

 

“We paid up until the end of the week. We were gonna extend it if we needed-”

 

“Got another date lined up with Becky?”

 

“Beth. And not exactly. I just thought…”

 

Sam’s voice trailing away had Dean’s eyes narrowing in suspicion, especially when Sam couldn’t hide the way his eyes flit between he and Cas.

 

The pain of the constant reminder of Cas leaving surged hot, coming out in a blast of anger that he lost any will for trying to control. “‘M sure Cas ‘s got better things to do than hang around here doing nothing. Right, Cas? Might as well head back to the bunker and-”

 

“But if there’s no hurry. And we’re- we don’t know for sure it’s worked-”

 

“Oh it worked,” Dean told Sam with a certainty he didn’t necessarily feel, but in his need to get over the next crippling hurdle of agony he knew he was about to suffer, urgency overrode his willingness to wait and check.

 

“If it worked, how come Cas is sat here looking more and more exhausted by the minute, huh?”

 

Dean risked a glance over in Cas’ direction and saw Sam’s observation to be true, kicking himself for not being brave enough to look at and notice it for himself. There was a tiny fragment of him that let him believe part of Cas’ exhaustion was the strain of them separating, but the louder, angrier side of him reminded Dean that Cas didn’t care, that he wanted to leave him, that he was going no matter how much he begged him to stay.

 

“Cas 's fine. Just been a tiring few days-”

 

“He doesn’t _look_ fine-”

 

“I believe I missed the moment when I became invisible enough for you to discuss me as though I am not sat between you at this very table,”

 

The bluntness of Cas’ words were yet another strike of pain to Dean’s gut. He clenched his jaw, forced himself to look back over at him, willed himself not to be weak.

 

“Yeah, well, not like you’re contributing much to the conversation,”

 

“Aside from you deciding we are leaving in the morning you have not exactly had much to say yourself,”

 

“Seems nothing I say makes a blind bit of difference to you anymore so it’s kinda pointless-”

 

“If you do not wish us to part as friends-”

 

“I don’t _want_ us to part at _all_.” Dean slammed his fists down on the table and glared across it, not able to separate his fury from his pain. “You’re the one that’s decided that. You’re the one that’s leaving, you’re the one-”

 

“Because it is for-”

 

“If you tell me one more time that it’s for the best, or for my own good, or whatever other shit’s gonna come falling out of your mouth, so help me…”

 

Cas returned Dean’s glare across the table, the tension of the evening closing in on them and seeming to make the air crackle, as Sam took his turn at being invisible and awkwardly cleared his throat to get their attention.

 

“Guys…” Sam tried, sounding so very out of place, “maybe I should-”

 

“Stay,” Dean demanded sharply. “This conversation’s over anyway-”

 

“And yet again you decide things for the three of us without our input-” Cas observed, anger lacing throughout his reply though somewhat muted by the tiredness so obvious in his voice.

 

“Because you don’t have anything left to say I wanna hear,” Dean blasted back at him, seething, though mostly at himself; why was he picking a fight with Cas when in a few hours he'd be leaving for good?

 

“This is always your problem, Dean, that you-”

 

“Oh it’s my problem alright-”

 

“That you only choose to hear what you want to hear-”

 

“Better than listening to you telling me you’re leaving me all over again and all the bullshit reasons for it-”

 

“It is not _bullshit_ -”

 

“Way I’m hearing it it is-”

 

“Because you are not _listening,_ ” Cas insisted, voice twisting up in exhausted frustration.

 

“Guys-” Sam tried to interject in protest, eyes flitting rapid and worried between them both.

 

“How many times you gonna tell me the same damn thing, huh, Cas?”

 

“Then I will not say anything further at all-”

 

“Good,” Dean enthused, nodding but not looking at him.

 

“ _Guys_ -” Sam repeated, desperately trying to get their attention. “If you can just quit it for a second-”

 

“Don’t you start, Sammy-”

 

“I’m not starting-”

 

“Not asking you to take sides-”

 

“This is between us, Dean, it is unfair to be taking this out on Sam-”

 

“I’m not _doing_ anything-”

 

“ _Dean_. _Cas_. Would you hold your drama for just _one_ minute and let me speak?”

 

Dean closed his eyes, forcing back the angry retort in the back of this throat, turned slowly in Sam’s direction trying not to seethe.

 

When Sam finally had them both looking at him, he shook his head, laughing without humour as he started back at them. “Cas is exhausted. You’re… raging. Did you even notice how much colder it’s got in here all of a sudden?”

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed to the small cloud forming in front of Sam’s mouth, huffing out himself and sitting back in surprise to see one there as well.

 

“And if you weren’t so busy yelling maybe you’d be listening to _that_ ,”

 

“What?” Dean asked, though the second the word was out of his mouth he heard it, a scraping sound along the glass out of any horror movie followed by loud thuds around the room that he couldn’t even place.

 

“Telling me you don’t hear it now?” Sam laughed again, tired though tension clear in his words.

 

“I-”

 

As if on cue the lights above them flickered; Dean jumping up immediately and searching for a weapon, hoping there were still enough salt loaded bullets loose in the bottom of the holdall to do some good.

 

Cas gave a soft groan and toppled forward, sweeping his arm out in time so that his head landed on that rather than crashing against the table.

 

“Cas,” Dean cried out, rushing around the table to reach for him, though his steps were laboured as though some force in front of him pushed him back.

 

_Somewhere beyond the sea… somewhere waiting for me… my lover stands on golden sands… and watches the ships that go sailin'..._

 

Music started up and lilted through the air sounding somehow lazy, with Sam and Dean turning as one to look in the direction it sounded like it was coming from. Over behind them, pots and plates on the kitchen counter began to rattle, the kettle clicked and the lights stuttered, and Dean started breathing hard as a handlike grip reached in around his throat.

 

“Dean-” Sam called out, cut off by a blow to the side of his head that had him knocked to the floor. Dean’s eyes snapped over in his direction still frozen to the spot, fighting against whatever was restraining him to move.

 

A low, gurgled whimper from Cas against the table and Dean found strength; Dean ripped himself away as though there was someone physically there holding on to him, rushing to Cas’ side and hauling him to sit up.

 

The pain and defeat in his eyes combined with the sheer weakness Dean could feel in his body as he held him up and Dean was stuttering out a plea, begging he didn’t know who, for what.

 

A choking sound and Cas’ eyes widened; Dean could see the pressure of a grip around his neck, scrabbled out to knock away invisible fingers, to haul to Cas to his feet with no luck at all.

 

“Please,” Dean begged all over again, finding himself straddling Cas’ lap without even intending to and cradling his face in his hands.

 

“Please,” he whispered, dropping kisses over his face and lingering a longer one against his lips, desperate to feel him kissing back. It took a few moments for Cas to find the strength to do that but when he did, shaking hands slid up to wrap around Dean’s waist, a cry escaping from deep in his throat as he surged against him, kissing him hard.

 

Dean wasn’t counting the minutes, wasn’t paying any attention to anything but Cas kissing him, a voice whispering in the back of his mind that this was it, this was the very last, this was his last chance to taste him, to be so close. So Dean kissed back with equal force, not stopping for the tears that slid down his cheeks and mingled with Cas’, not acknowledging Sam sprawled on the floor just at the other side, not caring about the oddness of their intimacy in the middle of what was going on around them.

 

It took another few minutes for Dean to realise the ominous pressure in the room had dropped, the brief blast of music hadn’t been repeated, and everything that had been clattering and clanging around had come to rest. He sat back a touch, his hands still cradling Cas’ jaw as they looked back at each other in disbelief.

 

Dean huffed to himself, the doubt and mistrust at the temporary lull in what was happening around him giving way to his very urgent need to keep continual contact with Cas. He ducked and kissed him once more then stood, with Cas’ hands out to his sides to steady him as he did. Dean reached out a hand to pull Cas up as well, wrapping his arm around his waist as his legs trembled but holding on to him so together they could check on Sam.

 

Sam was already sat upright blinking in confusion, the heel of his hand pressed against the side of his head and a wince of pain wrinkling up his eyes.

 

“I’m fine,” he said when he caught them watching him, and as though to prove that he dragged himself to his feet with a groan, using the table to haul himself up and waving away Dean’s extended hand to help him should he need it.

 

“Uh…” Dean tried, shaking his head.

 

“Guess we’ve still work to do, huh?” Sam sighed out, closing his eyes again and shaking his head as though he was trying to clear it.

 

“...Yeah…”

 

“We… I can’t… I’ll… I’ll start looking-”

 

“For what?”

 

Sam’s hands slapped against his sides in exasperation.

 

“How ‘bout… how ‘bout tomorrow? We all try and sleep… if this thing’ll let us,” Dean suggested, though feeling strangely certain in that moment that it would.

 

Sam nodded, sliding down into a chair and slumping against the table. “I’ll sit up for a bit and… I don’t know. My head,”

 

Dean sighed, his grip around Cas tightening. “Want me to sit-”

 

“Go,” Sam shook his head, smiling and looking at the way Dean curled his arm around Cas, seeming comforted to see it. “Go get some sleep. We’ll… we’ll think in the morning,”

 

One more moment to look back to make sure Sam was okay and Dean was stumbling forward, pulling Cas along with him. They climbed the stairs still holding on to one another, across the landing, stumbling into their room, pulling back the duvet on the bed and climbing in, curling up in each other’s arms without even undressing.

 

For a few moments they stared at each other; to Dean it felt so very necessary to take the time to memorise every line of Cas, let himself wonder if Cas might be doing the same.

 

With a heavy drop of his shoulders Cas leaned in, claimed an anguish-ridden kiss, pulled Dean to tuck beneath his chin and wrapped his arms around him. Dean listened to the steadier beating of Cas’ heart and allowed it to comfort him though knowing it wouldn’t lull him to sleep, sank into his arms as much as possible, and tried to tell himself Cas would still be there with him in the morning.

 

***

  



	9. Chapter 9

“So what’re we missing?”

 

Dean grabbed a stack of paperwork towards him and watched as Sam slid open the laptop, trying to force himself into working mode. He’d woken after an uncharacteristic night of uninterrupted sleep, stunned by the sensation of waking still firmly gripped in the warmth of Cas’ arms. Cas had even hesitantly raised his head enough to kiss him, running his hands up and down Dean’s sides a couple of times before sighing in the exact tone Dean knew signalled the moment was over and he needed to move.

 

The weight of Cas scrutinizing him from across the table had Dean’s eyes lifting to him, taking in the weary curve of his shoulders and the deep bruises beneath his eyes that suggested he hadn’t slept in months. For all his talk of helping with the case the night before, from where Dean was observing Cas just didn’t look like he had it in him. Dean offered him a wary smile that was half met, before Cas’ eyes fell to Dean’s clenched fingers around the pages he was holding.

 

Distraction as always was Dean’s friend, giving him the strength to push away his heartache and focus on something outside of himself.

 

“'Lieutenant Colonel Jacob Brook. Stationed at Norfolk, where his son was also stationed initially when he first joined the Navy. Brook Senior enlisted in 1969 when he was eighteen, slowly worked his way through the ranks, nothing in his records to suggest anything but an exemplary career',”

 

Sam nodded as Dean read, tapping away at the keyboard for his own information to share.

 

“I had a quick search last night before I went up. Turns out his son enlisted when he was seventeen, so his dad woulda had to agree to that,”

 

A curious hum curved Dean’s lip, the papers in his hands brushing against the table as he lowered them. “You found anything else about what happened to him besides 'freak accident'?”

 

“There was some kind of incident at the base he was stationed at - Great Lakes,” Sam spoke mostly to himself as he checked over the details on the screen. “It’s… kinda vague. Like, _really_ vague. But it says that Lieutenant Jacob Brooks Junior was killed in the incident, whatever it was, April seventeenth, 1995,”

 

“Couple weeks before Senior rented the place next door,” Dean added, nodding to himself, trying to imagine what kind of death the guy might have suffered, why it wasn’t detailed as thoroughly as he’d seen in the majority of other Naval records.

 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, nodding himself, “I found the same stuff as you. About Mrs Brooks leaving after their son died. Apparently she moved out of the family home and across the country somewhere to an elderly relative- details are kinda sketchy about that as well. No name, no address, nothing. But according to her death certificate she died of complications following a heart surgery in 2001,”

 

“So Brooks was discharged dishonourably for what, fighting? After serving his entire life with a clean record? Sounds pretty out of character… think maybe he went ballistic or something after his wife left and his kid died?” Dean suggested, his hands still curled around the edges of his papers as he idly tapped the ends of them against the table.

 

Sam looked back at the screen, his eyes lingering over words like _altercation_ and _unprovoked attack on a fellow officer_ and let out a heavy sigh. “Looks that way.”

 

“Reckon Mrs Brooks blamed him for their kid’s death or something? Don’t see how it’d be his fault - he was up at Norfolk still when whatever happened happened, yeah?”

 

Sam gave a small hum of agreement, still focused on the screen.

 

Dean tilted his chin in the direction of the laptop. “What’s listed as cause of death?”

 

“That’s the thing,” Sam said, shifting and clicking his neck, “I can't find any more than you did. No autopsy was recorded, no… there’s no mention of a burial, a funeral… anything,”

 

“That’s all kinds of weird,” Dean agreed, “Wouldn’t be the first time something got covered up, but-”

 

“But it’s weird,” Sam summed up, nodding to show his agreement.

 

“So,” Dean said, frowning as he collected all the facts for himself, “here’s our timeline. Junior is seventeen, enlists - with Dad’s help - joins the Navy. Serves for two years, dies in suspicious circumstances when he’s nineteen. Let’s assume Mom didn’t approve of him signing up in the first place so when he dies, she moves out. Senior loses it, lashes out, gets discharged. Comes up here - god knows why - and ends up dying of a heart attack? And his ghost starts randomly attacking couples but sparing anyone else who comes to stay?”

 

Sam’s mouth twisted up into a smile at the scepticism in Dean’s voice and nodded to show his own doubts.

 

“Sounds like all we’ve got. ‘Cept when Brooks Junior transferred out from under his dad; says here he was based out of Great Lakes almost immediately after he first joined up. Looks like they were only on the same base for a few weeks,”

 

Dean hummed again, thinking. “Guess it makes sense he’d transfer. Be accused of favouritism if he succeeded and failing if he wasn’t as good as his dad, right?”

 

“I guess so,” Sam shrugged, still looking as uncertain as Dean felt.

 

“Have you had any response to the email that you sent?” Cas asked out of the blue, finally contributing to the conversation as though he was by then just about awake enough to. Dean’s hand flinched with the urge to reach out and grab his, to give him some of the comfort he looked as though he might be needing, but resisted, tightening it instead into a fist beneath the table.

 

“Uh… there were four replies yesterday actually but… they all sounded like they were high on something or- or just… you know,” Sam said with a shrug; Cas’ eyes narrowed as though he _didn’t_ know but left it uncommented on, nodding once to himself.

 

“Wait, make that five,” Sam added with a frown as he stared back at the screen. “This… this one came in like… second to last but… but I guess I missed it,”

 

“What’s it say?” Dean asked with a swig of coffee swirling around his mouth, wondering if it would do anything to make him feel a little more alive, but doubted it very much. His entire body ached, from being buffeted and thrown around, from being half-strangled, from being so close to losing Cas. It was taking all his willpower not to just fold his arms over the table and drop his head down there; he felt as though he might fall asleep in seconds.

 

Dean watched the frown etch further on Sam's face, clearing his throat after a minute of two when it looked like he wasn't going to answer.

 

“Uh… seriously. I don’t remember reading this, but-”

 

“Read it out,”

 

Sam looked over at him oddly then back at the screen, clearing his throat.

 

“ _You will probably not believe this, and I can’t even believe I’m even responding to your email, because I told myself for years it was all in our imagination. Several years ago, and I don’t know if you need an exact date for your book, but I’d say it was around the early summer of 2007, I and my then boyfriend at the time came up to Sandbridge for a long weekend._

 

“ _It was supposed to be a romantic getaway, and I know how painfully sappy that sounds but we’d hit a rough patch and were trying to work things out. Constantly arguing, never happy; it was a stressful time in both of our jobs and I guess we just lost our priorities for each other. The weekend was supposed to be a make or break thing, time just for the two of us to see if our relationship was even worth saving._

 

“ _I remember the house clear as anything; this huge, airy space that somehow seemed so much colder than it should be, especially for the heat of the summer that year. An old, rickety porch that I hope they’ve fixed by now; there were a couple of loose floorboards at the time of our visit that I put my foot through and nearly ruined the entire weekend by within five minutes of arriving because we thought I’d need to go to the hospital to get it checked out. Luckily it was just a sprain, but still._

 

“ _I’m getting sidetracked; the house was beautiful even if it was cold, and the bedroom - so beautiful. There was this amazing feature wall, olive green with this silver motif-”_

 

“Sounds gross,” Dean interrupted, earning himself a raised eyebrow from Sam. Dean waved his hand in apology and tipped his chin for him to continue.

 

“ _\- huge bed, really comfy couch against one wall and this beautiful vinyl player that if I’m honest, we thought about taking with us at one point,”_

 

Dean smiled at that, nodding along in agreement, thinking of just the spot it would have gone in the bunker to get the best acoustics at the same time as putting it on display like it deserved.

 

“ _We’d not been there ten minutes before we started arguing. I can’t even tell you what about; by then we were arguing so much the reason for it was usually lost before the next one started up; it was awful. We were arguing so much that when the door slammed behind us of its own accord, we didn’t even jump; we were too busy being angry with each other I suppose.”_

 

Sam paused, looking back at Dean, then cleared his throat and started up again.

 

“ _I remember we both turned to look, I remember going over and turning the door handle and it opening without any problems, I remember us saying something about the wind - even though the window was closed at the time._

 

“ _Our arguing stopped anyway and we started exploring the house a little. I don’t think I need to tell you what we were doing; we were trying to reconcile after all, and I’m sure you get the picture-”_

 

“Christening the place then,” Dean added with a grin that he slid over to Cas with a blast of memory of them doing similar in a number of places, then dropped again immediately at Sam’s snort and Cas’ look of discomfort.

 

“ _The house was full of creaks and groans; I guess we both chalked it up to being an old rickety thing, even though I don’t suppose the house was all that old. But there were these really eerie scraping noises and what sounded like footsteps when we first tried to sleep; we put the light on and for some reason that seemed to make it all okay, at least in our minds it did: can you believe that?!_

 

“ _Anyway; the second day and night was worse. Those bangs and crashes continued; my boyfriend called the realtor half-convincing himself that there was something wrong with the pipes and that they were going to explode on us at any moment. The realtor assured us the house had had a recent gas inspection and that ‘sometimes these things happened with old houses’. Again - I’m still not convinced the place was even that old; I mean, the salt from the sea would rot the wood on the porch, right? But the rest of the house still looked pretty solid to me. So anyway, we just tried to ignore the noises. Took walks on the beach, walked over to the house next door - it had a lovely little terrace area out to the side, and we thought about seeing if we could move there instead, but didn’t really make any effort to look into it._

 

“ _Back at our house in the evening, and I swear, I’m not crazy; a vinyl started up playing of its own accord, and I swear - there was a voice there in the room with us. I… can’t really tell you what it was saying, it was more like this… howl… like you’d do if you’d stubbed your toe or something, but it dragged on, and on, and though it was really, really low, more of an echo of a howl than an actual one… it was still terrifying._

 

“ _We pulled the player from the socket, and everything stopped. We waited a little longer, sat down on the couch together, talked a bit. Argued, obviously. I remember stamping out of the room at something Adam - my boyfriend had said, and running down the hallway and tripping on the stairs - I put it down to my ankle going through those floorboards the day before but I swear, it felt like my ankle was grabbed._

 

“ _It wasn’t so bad - I righted myself soon enough, but downstairs felt just as oppressive as upstairs, maybe even a little worse. And here’s when it gets really weird; I started having a seizure - we didn’t call them panic attacks back then but my throat started seizing up and I couldn’t breathe, it was like all the air was being kept from my throat._

 

“ _I guess I must have screamed a little; Adam came charging down the stairs, scooped me up, took me outside to get some air. I stood out there, my legs shaking, crying that I wouldn’t go back in. He went back in, grabbed up our bags, and we drove off; next day when I looked in the mirror it looked just like I’d been throttled - and there were these marks that looked like faint rope burns, can you believe that?! I was too scared to take pictures but I swear: I’m not making this up!!!_

 

_"So that’s our story; I don’t know if it will fit in with the theme of the book you are writing but so long as you don’t use our names we have no problem you adapting it to fit. My husband - because when we got home we figured things out with a bit of work - he says to tell you that he woke up in the middle of the first night with the words to ‘Beyond the Sea’ in his head - and that was the song that started playing by itself. I don’t know what that has to do with anything but if it is a ghost, well. At least they have some appreciation for good music I guess.”_

 

Sam looked up expectantly at Dean then, and Dean nodded in answer.

 

“Fits,”

 

“Yeah, I guess,”

 

“All of it - the house being cold, the sounds, the- the music. That’s… that’s what I heard as well,”

 

“‘ _Somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waiting for me, my lover stands on golden sands_ ’-”

 

“Cas?” Dean cried out, watching as Cas clutched his head in pain as he gruffly recited the words almost to himself.

 

“I keep… hearing these words, Dean. Over and over; I do not know-”

 

Dean was around his side of the table in an instant, smoothing reassuring hands over Cas’ back, cupping his face, kissing him without any pause to consider his reaction. “Cas-”

 

“I am fine, Dean, I-”

 

Dean silenced him with another kiss but dragged a chair closer to sit beside him between he and Sam, held Cas’ hand against his own lap.

 

“You okay, Cas?” Sam asked, keeping his voice soft. Cas nodded at him with a small smile, squeezing Dean’s fingers back and nudging against his shoulder to tell him he was okay.

 

“So if Brooks Junior’s never been buried…” Dean began, slow and hesitant as he weighed the words he was thinking out before voicing them, “what if… what if somehow- I don’t know how- the ghost is him? Maybe- maybe he was attached to his dad in some way and… and the old guy didn’t die of a heart attack but the son killed him? Kinda like revenge for his own death if his dad encouraged him to enlist? Or made him do it?”

 

“Why would a father force his son into the Navy?” Sam asked more himself than Dean; Dean remembered thinking he’d follow their own dad’s footsteps into whatever he told him to do to keep his approval but kept the thought to himself.

 

“To make him keep up a family tradition? Make him… I don’t know, stop him from doing stuff Dad didn’t approve of? Or- I don’t know. Maybe he just didn’t want to be in the Navy at all, maybe he wanted to do something else and the dad just… didn’t listen?”

 

Sam frowned at Dean’s words and sat back in his chair, folding his arms tight across his chest, his gaze drifting curious over to Cas. “Do you know that song, Cas?”

 

“No,” Cas told him with a firm shake of his head. “No, I do not,”

 

The tiredness in Cas’ voice had Dean leaning and pressing a kiss against his temple; Cas leaned into it instead of pulling back as Dean had half come to expect. Dean lingered his lips there a fraction longer, breathing him in a little and savouring their closeness before sitting back up and feeling as though he’d pulled about a mile away from him instead of less than half a foot.

 

“What if… what if…” Dean began, a sudden thought rushing at him and making him reach out and grab for the laptop, untangle his fingers from Cas’ and begin typing furiously, aware of two sets of eyes staring at him.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Second, Sammy,”

 

Dean continued typing, searching with his heart racing a little at the thought of maybe having an idea. A minute or so later he nodded to himself and angled the laptop around a little so that Sam could see it.

 

“What am I looking at?”

 

“Brooks Junior was stationed at Great Lakes, Illinois, right? Died April 1995?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “April seventeenth,”

 

“Right. April eighteenth, this guy reports getting his car stolen and then it turned up abandoned in Vernon Hills a few hours later, not a scratch on the thing,”

 

Sam looked down at the screen again and shook his head, raising his hands a little, still not seeing the connection. “You… you think Brooks Junior just… disappeared? Like… deserted?”

 

“No body, no funeral, no records,” Dean reasoned with an easy shrug.

 

“So why are we looking at a list of carpenters?” Sam asked, looking down at the screen once again.

 

“Back in 1995 there were fifteen carpenters in Vernon Hills,”

 

“Okay, but-”

 

Dean turned the laptop back again, typed, and spun it back to Sam. Sam looked at the picture of a Jacob Brooks Junior and back at Dean, still not understanding.

 

“In the letters… _J-_ that’s gotta be _Jacob_ , right? - talked about… he talked about carving this bird for- for whoever _A_ was. What if… what if he carved that ring inside the record player as well? What if Brooks Junior wrote those letters to whoever the hell _A_ is- _was_ , whilst he was still in the Navy, and when whatever went down at the base went down, took the chance and just… ran off? Changed identity, started working at one of these-”

 

“Kinda a long shot-”

 

“What else’ve we got? Not gonna hurt to put in fifteen calls, see if anyone remembers someone fitting that description starting work around that time,”

 

“But if that’s the case… you think, what. Junior’s the ghost, or Senior, or-”

 

“Let’s call around first,” Dean said with a shrug that showed he had no idea.

 

Sam’s third call less than twenty minutes later and he was looking back at Dean with a rueful grin. “Andrew Green. Walked into this one man band of a place in 1995 aged twenty, showed the guy what he could do with a gnarled up end of wood and a blade he took out of his own pocket, ‘made a thing so pretty his wife couldn’t resist’, hired him on the spot,”

 

“Andrew Green,” Dean repeated, furiously tapping his pen against the table.

 

“Andrew Green. Worked there for three years, learned the tricks of the trade and made this guy a load of money, left in late 1998 and said he was headed to Iowa to work for a bigger firm,”

 

“So if it is him… he’d be what. Forty officially, forty one unofficially,”

 

“It figures he’d change his details at least a bit if he deserted,” Sam shrugged.

 

Dean nodded, his hand absently reaching out for Cas’.

 

“So is _Andrew_ \- _Jacob_ , the same person as _A_ or… no, that wouldn’t fit. Would it?” Dean mused to himself and leaving Sam shaking his head.

 

Another phone call and Sam was smiling. “Turns out an Andrew Green worked for this firm in Iowa for eight years, left in 2006 to set up on his own. They have an address for him; guy I spoke to said he lives in the neighbourhood and as far as he knows Andrew still lives in the same house. Even works out of it,”

 

“Guess we’re making a detour on the way home,” Dean said, nodding and squeezing Cas’ hand a little tighter. He only noticed he was doing it when Cas’ other hand squeezed on top of his, silently asking him to loosen his grip.

 

When Sam looked back at him blankly, Dean felt like he needed to make his case unnecessarily. “Something’s still here, obviously. Maybe- maybe we find this guy - Brooks Junior. _Andrew_ Green. Figure out what’s up with his dad, why he’s doing what he’s doing- if it's him, 'course. I don’t know… worth a shot, right? Can’t just… can’t just leave it like this, 'n we're getting nowhere being here, so...”

 

Sam sighed, pressing back against the table to stretch. “Nothing else to go on I guess,”

 

“You up for travelling, Cas?” Dean asked, gentle and in a mumble against his temple, forgetting he wasn’t supposed to do that anymore.

 

Cas looked him over, and Dean had the distinct impression he was being studied thoroughly, before he muttered to him with a silent, “Of course,”

 

***

 

The sharp slam of the car door had Dean grimacing, watching through half closed eyes as Sam stamped across the car park and into the motel lobby. Cas shifted behind him, and Dean caught his furious gaze in the rearview, closing his eyes fully to it as his stomach rolled all over again.

 

They’d made is as far as Cleveland when Sam had started yelling at him to pull over and demanded a night away from them both. Dean couldn’t even say how his and Cas’ argument had started, nor even if truthful what it was about, but the tension in the car was stifling, and Dean couldn’t blame Sam at all for wanting to stop – even if he had managed to convince him to hold out until they reached Iowa.

 

 

Sam stamped back to the car, his expression seething, threw in a set of keys through the window and on to Dean’s lap, before going to the trunk and pulling his own bag out and stamping out of sight again.

 

Dean watched after him for a second, then jumped out himself at the sound of Cas opening his door. Dean ran around the car, crowded Cas back against it with his hands low either side of his waist.

 

“Don’t leave me,” Dean begged, all his fury forgotten, transformed into a desperate whisper that made Cas sigh out hard in frustration and lay his head back against the car.

 

“Dean. You only ever want to fight with me-”

 

“That’s not true-”

 

“You snap at my every word and mutter under your breath with every single thing I say,” Cas pointed out, staring at him with an arched look on his face daring Dean to disagree.

 

“I- I don’t mean to do that,” Dean shook his head, his anger internalising at his constant response of lashing out. “I don’t, you… you gotta know that, Cas,”

 

“I do,” Cas agreed, curling his fingers around the lapels of Dean’s jacket. “And I do not wish to fight with you-”

 

“I love you,” Dean stuttered out brokenly; how many times he wished he’d said that before, when the words were empty now, pointless, and something Cas might expect to hear as a bargaining tool to make him stay when he didn’t want to.

 

Cas’ eyes dropped closed, his face so worn and tired Dean wanted to pick him up and carry him to bed, tuck him in, keep him close. He doubted it would be accepted though; if his desperation to keep Cas there with him manifested only in his warped way of doing everything within his power to push him away, how could he expect anything else of him?

 

“If I were really what you want Dean,” Cas said, opening his eyes suddenly and staring him down, “then you would not fight me. You would not… you would not feel such-”

 

“Ever considered I don’t know what I’m _doing_ here, Cas?” Dean retorted, sliding his hands a little higher up the car and leaning in. “I just… We… I need to know what I did _wrong,_  Cas. I can’t… I can’ figure it out-”

 

“I have never said that you did anything wrong-”

 

“So why are you leaving me?”

 

There was no way for Dean to hide the desperation and hurt in his words; Cas let out a small grunt of anger, banging his head back against the car in what seemed to Dean like frustration.

 

“I am not what you want, Dean. I am… attempting to give you what you want by-”

 

“When’ve I ever said I didn’t want _you_ , Cas, huh? Tell me that,” Dean demanded, glaring when Cas eventually opened his eyes again.

 

“There are things that you want that I cannot give you, Dean,” Cas’ reply was clearly a deliberate avoidance of Dean’s question; Dean seized on that and pressed in even closer.

 

“Tell me when I said I didn’t want you. ‘Cos I can remember ‘bout a million times I’ve told you how much I want you, but I sure as hell can’t think of a single one when I said anything different,”

 

“You did not need to say those exact words-”

 

“Hell I didn’t,” Dean argued, his fingers curling into tight fists as he closed up the gap between them, every breath out whispering over Cas’ lips, and Dean’s eyes falling to watch the way Cas’ lips parted around that as though he wanted to lean in and close the gap between them.

 

“Dean-”

 

“I want you. I’ve never stopped wanting you, not since the first time I ever let myself admit it. Way before then too, probably,”

 

“Do you believe that I do not want you?” Cas growled then, his face flushing with fury and his hands tugging Dean a fraction closer, sliding them out awkwardly from under Dean’s arms and gripping his ass, grinding up against him so there was no way for Dean not to feel his arousal. “I have wanted you, since before I understood what _wanting_ even meant,”

 

“Then-”

 

“I have loved you, since before I understood what this kind of love meant. And I have watched you, seen you try to love me back-”

 

“I _do_ love you back-”

 

“And after all of that time I have realised how truly selfish I have been. To keep you from… from a normal existence-”

 

“Since when’s me and Sam ever had a _normal_ , huh? This is our life- _our_ normal. Always has been, always will be-”

 

“Exactly. I know that you want something more-”

 

“I _don’t_ , Cas. I don’t; I want you. That’s it, that there’s all of my wants,”

 

“You do not truly want me, Dean. If you are honest with yourself. I am not a thing you should want-”

 

Dean backed up a little so that Cas would see the incredulous look on his face at his words. “Shouldn’t want? Or can’t have?”

 

“I am not… I cannot… I should not-”

 

“Tryna tell me I’m not good enough for you, Cas?”

 

“Dean-”

 

“I mean I get that,” Dean nodded, quietly seething at himself as he so often did for not being _enough_. “I _know_ that. Turns out I’m too selfish to stop myself from wanting you anyway,”

 

“Please-”

 

Abruptly pushing away from the car and out of Cas’ grip Dean went back around to the driver’s seat to pick up the motel room keys from where he’d dropped them, slamming the door as he paced away. He walked round to the open trunk to snatch up their shared bag, huffing in cold amusement at the thought of them sharing anything, slammed the lid down so hard the entire back of the car juddered then checked the number of the key, stamping away in a temper echoing Sam’s earlier one, leaving Cas to trail silently behind him.

 

The moment Cas was through door Dean was flinching. At his own anger, the look of sorrow and tiredness on Cas’ face as he just seemed to hang there adrift in the room. Dean couldn’t take it, couldn’t deal with any of it, sidestepped so there was no chance of even the briefest of contact as he moved and headed back out the door again.

 

“I need a drink,” He growled with a moment of pause in the doorway, not looking back for Cas’ reaction and slamming the motel door roughly behind him.

 

When Dean returned several hours later to find Cas asleep, curled up in a ball as close to the edge of the bed as was possible, Dean forced himself to stand and watch. He debated going to sleep in the car, his back giving a spasm of protest at even the thought of it, then resigned himself to a sleepless night, quietly shrugged out of his jacket, boots and jeans, and balanced on his own edge, a cavernous gap of sheets between them.

 

***

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is paying attention to the chapter count... yes, this fic did just grow by one... ;) x

“He’s sleeping,”

 

Dean turned the key in the engine and swung the Impala out of the motel car park in one abrupt spin, as though that could distance him from Sam asking after Cas.

 

“He’s sick?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean growled, not wanting to tell Sam he didn’t want to talk about it but hoping his lack of words would tell him that regardless.

 

Dean thought of Cas in bed, how they’d both rolled over in their sleep reaching for one another, how faded and worn Cas had looked to him from across the pillow when he had woken. Of how Cas’ hands had crept up under the back of his shirt to pull him closer, how he himself had leaned in to nudge Cas’ lips apart with his own, how Cas had rolled him on to his back and they’d rutted against and kissed each other angrily until Cas had pulled back from him without the slightest warning and turned away, that blank expression back on his face and making Dean's gut drop.

 

Dean’s questions had gone unanswered, and his hand hovering just next to Cas’ hip where he wanted to slide it over and pull himself snugly against him he’d snatched away at the last moment, getting ready in a hurry without another word and texting Sam from the car.

 

This push pull between them was becoming exhausting, but even a second of thinking about it being over had Dean’s heart crashing in brokenness and him wanting to reach for Cas all over again.

 

“You okay to do this?” Sam asked after they’d driven a few miles out. Dean gave a stiff nod and put his foot down a touch.

 

They stopped for breakfast, more for Dean to make sure Sam had eaten than for him to manage to eat anything himself. He ate though, under Sam’s watchful gaze, swallowing every mouthful as though it was putrid, an ache in his gut with every bite.

 

They pulled up outside of a single story house, simply maintained and unassuming to look at. They could hear the buzz of a sander growing louder as they approached, and followed the sound around to the back of the house. Two French doors were flung open wide, the noise floating out to them from there, where they stood and listened as a machine was switched off and the noise replaced by the manual snicking sound of rough edges being methodically smoothed away by sandpaper.

 

The scent of freshly sawn wood Dean breathed in, letting it calm him. There was something reassuring about that smell that he couldn’t really place; snatches of memories of his father, a few more of Bobby, enough to settle the storm still raging in him from things with Cas earlier that morning.

 

Sam reached up to rap at one of the doors and the sanding came to an abrupt stop. Footsteps followed, and curious eyes came to stare at them as worn hands wiped clean against a piece of cloth knotted between them.

 

“Didn’t hear the doorbell,” came the greeting, precise, to the point, confidence underwritten by wariness as he spoke. Staring back at them was a man with a build similar to Dean's but with brown eyes instead of green ones and hair a shade darker and a touch longer. 

 

“Yeah sorry,” Dean immediately apologised sticking his hand out to shake and noticing the roughness of his grip. “My fault; couldn’t resist the smell,”

 

A touch of the suspicion in the man’s eyes dropped as he slowly withdrew his hand, held himself a little taller. “You in the trade?”

 

“Me?” Dean said pointing to his own chest, “Nah, just… just a… just... I like the smell. Reminds me of something being a kid-”

 

“So… you’re looking for some furniture being made?” the man asked, shaking his head dismissively in a gesture that spoke of someone expecting simplicity and directness, “Because I have a website and-”

 

“Sorry.” Sam said then, shaking his own head and laughing deprecatingly. “My brother and I, we, well, our parents-”

 

“It’s their wedding anniversary coming up and we thought-”

 

“They’ve just decorated and spilt a load of paint over their dining room table and-”

 

“And we figured… maybe you could help,” Sam finished their lie smoothly; sometimes it disturbed Dean just how easy it was for them to lie, how naturally it came to them. But then without that skill where would they be?

 

Another pause and the man frowned a touch, but ushered them in anyway; Dean sensed the shrewdness of a businessman looking to make a sale despite his obvious discomfort at their unplanned arrival in his home.

 

In the centre of a room with no furniture to speak of besides a single cushioned chair stood a bookcase, held in place on a bracketed stand, the sanding tool on its side down on the bare floorboards alongside a few squares of sandpaper both pristine and used.

 

“You come highly recommended,” Dean said in a soft voice as his eyes swept over the room.

 

“Yeah? By who?”

 

The suspicion was back; Dean took a risk, shrugging his shoulders looking over at Sam to tell him to follow his lead.

 

“Actually I was wondering if you could restore an old vinyl player for me,” Dean said, staring the man down for his reaction.

 

“Bit of a jump from dining room furniture-”

 

“See I found this old one in a yard sale ‘couple weeks back. Got the initials _J B_ carved into it. Wanna sand it down, smarten it up, make it my own, you know?”

 

The tiniest flicker crossed the man's face; Dean knew it well, had seen it often enough to know he was on to something and it was just a question of continuing to scratch away at it.

 

“That something you think you can do?” Sam pressed, coming to stand closer to Dean and crossing his arms; Dean chuckled internally to himself at the gesture.

 

“Hey, _Andrew_ isn’t it?” Dean said then, twisting the name in his mouth, reaching out and smoothing a hand down the side of the bookcase in progress. “We’ve been tryna figure out the initials. John. Joshua. Whaddya think to _Jacob_?”

 

A calculating gaze took in Dean and Sam’s suits, and a look of horrified, dawning realisation sank the colour right from the man's face. Dean was close enough to see a thin sheen of sweat bloom on his cheeks and forehead, to take in the way he was very lightly trembling. “You’re… you’re Navy, aren’t you,”

 

The man gave a brief look over Dean’s shoulder as though he was considering making a run for it, then dropped heavily into the lone chair in the room, his hands coming up to wipe his face before cradling it as he braced his elbows against his legs, his back rising and falling with the effort of breathing so hard.

 

Dean said nothing, just continued to watch him, knowing if left to it the guy would probably talk himself out.

 

For the first few years after he'd first picked Sam up from Stanford they'd taken bets with each other on how long it would take suspects to crack. Unlike the rock, paper scissors thing they still did - for far too many things, Dean added to himself because he was a sore loser sometimes - Dean had won out on almost every single occasion. He could usually guess to within a five minute window of how long it would take just by looking at their initial expressions. Dean had to assume Brook caving in under five minutes was because of a lifetime spent on the lookout, fearful of being found out.

 

“C’mon man, twenty one years?” He cried out suddenly, pleading in his startled eyes as he looked between them both. “You come after me after twenty one _years_? Don’t you have anything better to do? Find some actual criminals or something?”

 

The speed he turned his head repeatedly between them picked up as he grew more frantic; Dean felt a sense of smug satisfaction at just how quickly Jacob had actually caved. He then checked and chided himself, disappointed that he could even be so momentarily callous; technically speaking, aside from deserting the Navy the man in front of them hadn’t done anything _wrong_ , least of all to them. The moment Dean recognised he was channelling his own personal anger was the moment the glee he felt at getting to the guy dissipated into guilt.

 

“We’re not Navy, man, I promise,”

 

The wide eyed startled look Dean received then had that guilt shift a little more until he was fidgeting on the spot.

 

“But you are _Jacob Brooks_. Right?” Sam continued, and unlike Dean showing no softening in his stance at all.

 

“I haven’t been. Not- not for the longest time,”

 

“Like you said. Twenty one years,” Dean nodded, idly wondering about what it would be like to disappear into an entirely new life where he could start over fresh, pretend he was someone different.

 

“Wh- why are you here?”

 

“It’s kind of a long story, actually,” Dean began, wondering how best to start, knowing that a sudden launch into ‘hey, your dad’s probably a ghost and has been killing people’ wouldn’t do any one of them any good, but not really having any specific ideas.

 

“I need a drink,” Jacob announced suddenly with an abrupt jump to his feet. Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam the second his back turned, and the pair of them began to follow Jacob as he disappeared through a door towards the back of the room.

 

Inside the house had that same simple feel to it as they had seen outside; Dean made a quick glancing sweep of the kitchen and the lobby area as they walked through, allowing himself to wonder if Jacob himself had carved the solid-looking staircase that led upstairs.

 

In the lounge Dean had another rapid glance around the room, his eyes coming to a stop when they fell on the only photo there. A young woman smiled up from the frame sat as though in pride of place on a low overflowing bookshelf beside one of two deep, wide couches. Dean assumed from the angle it was within grabbing reach from the couch; Jacob confirmed this by sitting within arms reach of it, gesturing for them to sit themselves, after returning from the kitchen shakily juggling three glasses and a mostly full bottle of whiskey.

 

Jacob poured them all a generous measure with trembling fingers, downed all of his with a wince as he sat down opposite them, then immediately reached for the bottle again and poured himself another.

 

“So what’s this all about?” he asked again, closing his eyes and steadying the glass against his leg.

 

“Who’s the photo of?” Sam said with a nod over to the bookcase.

 

Jacob turned, a fraction of an uncertain smile cracking on his face as he stared at the picture for a moment, and in a soft voice answered, “My daughter. Charlotte. Lives back in Vernon Falls with her mom,”

 

Dean did the math quick in his head to guess at an age but waited for Jacob to speak. He hesitated for another moment and then the words began to tumble out of his mouth unchecked.

 

“Me and her mother… it was back when… it was a long, long time ago, okay? We were both young, and… neither one of us planned on Charlotte happening, but… can’t pretend I regret a minute of it. Her mom… Sarah. She’s… the most forgiving, incredible woman in the world. Raised Charlotte practically single-handedly since I couldn’t figure my ass out. Fact is I’m lucky Charlotte wants anything to do with me at all,”

 

Dean nodded, though kept quiet, encouraging him on.

 

“Charlotte started coming to visit me when she was about eleven. Before then, we exchanged letters, had the odd phone call. I left Vernon Falls for here when she was one. I was… messed up back then,”

 

“How come you chose Iowa?” Sam asked, slowly sipping at his whiskey and his eyes never leaving Jacob once.

 

“I… put a pin in a map,” Jacob laughed humourlessly, draining his glass and reaching out to refill it yet again. “I… I had to get away from Vernon Falls. It… it wasn’t fair on Sarah me being there when I… it just wasn’t fair, is all,”

 

“So you put a pin in a map and ended up here?” Dean asked again, giving a small shake of his head because it didn’t sound all that believable to him.

 

“Yeah,”

 

Jacob continued to stare between the two of them, the expression on his face showing his utter incredulity at himself for even saying anything at all in the first place. Dean could tell he was attempting to force himself silent by the way he kept opening his mouth as though he wanted to say something and immediately taking another gulp of his drink. The three of them went on sitting in an awkward silence for a few more minutes, before Sam’s curiosity got the better of him.

 

“So. You were based at Great Lakes,” he pressed, trying to start the conversation over.

 

Jacobs face grew pinched, a hunted look settling in around his neck as he looked nervously back at them all over again. “How’d you know so much about me?”

 

“Not that hard,” Sam shrugged giving nothing away, but still staring back, silently demanding that he continue.

 

Jacob stared back at Sam as though he wanted to be able to force him to be the one to look away first. Dean observed the entire thing, saw the continued confusion there on Jacob's face that spoke of what he thought of finding himself talking to two strangers about his life.

 

“I… my dad is- was a Lieutenant Colonel down at Norfolk,” Jacob said eventually, voice full of mistrust and doubt. “Pops… he made me enlist when I was seventeen. Hated his guts for it every second since. Even now,”

 

“‘Made you’?” Sam asked, shaking his head; Dean fought back the eye roll at the sound of Sam’s naivety, the way he still held the belief that a parent wouldn’t do that kind of thing to their own flesh and blood.

 

A cold, calculating look took over Jacob’s face then, transforming him almost entirely from the person they had met just a few minutes ago. “You’ve clearly never met the man for yourself. He was a vindictive, manipulative bastard back then and I can't imagine even for a second that much has changed-”

 

Dean glanced over at Sam to see his eyes widen a touch before watching him stutter out, “Yeah, well, he’s… he’s, uh-”

 

“He’s dead?” The air seemed to twitch in the sudden blast of silence that followed Sam's stumbling attempt at words, with Jacob’s voice coming out measured and calm a few seconds later, though Dean noted the way the fingers of his free hand bunched tightly by his sides and his eyes rounded.

 

“Yeah. Sorry-”

 

“Good,”

 

There was no way for Sam and Dean to misinterpret the satisfied look creeping on to his face as he repeated _good_ to himself under his breath and nodded slowly, eyes off into the distance and seeing who knew what memory there.

 

“Anyway,” Jacob said after a couple of minutes, “After- the second I could, I transferred out of there. I… I never wanted to be in the Navy, not even as a kid, not for a damn minute. Hated it, hated seeing the sneering pride in Pops when he was always such… such a bastard to me and Mom, but put on this front of respectful servicing officer in front of everyone else. I always wanted to work with my hands, you know? Started carving animals out of bits of wood I found around the yard - a couple of times even with Pops' service knife. He said… he said I was soft for it. Not a _manly_ enough a profession. Bastard had me enlisted thinking he could keep an eye on me and control me even there. So the second I could… I moved. I mean I couldn't leave, so I did the next best thing – the only thing I could do. I moved. Transferred,”

 

“To Great Lakes,” Sam repeated for the confirmation.

 

“Yeah,”

 

“And… what happened? In 1995… there was an accident, right? You were reported dead, but…”

 

“Obviously I’m not. Let me guess,” Jacob snorted, “Some kinda cover up?”

 

Sam’s nod answered that for him, and Jacob took to drumming his fingers around his glass.

 

“There was a fire on the ship. I… I don’t know how it happened, or… or how it started. I can’t even remember what I was doing at the time to be frank about it. But I remember jumping into the water, swimming away a way, clinging on to some rocks, and realising- realising I didn’t have to go back. It was my _out_ ; I could disappear, start over, never have to deal with Pops ever again. Even if it meant never seeing my Mom again, it was still worth it. It _is_ still worth it. Maybe now he's gone I can-”

 

An unconscious look must have passed between Dean and Sam then without them realising; Jacob’s eyes grew sad then dropped closed, his head falling back against the sofa.

 

“She’s gone too. Isn’t she,”

 

“Uh… yeah,” Dean mumbled, looking away, “‘fraid so,”

 

Jacob broke, and Dean and Sam sat looking between each other in clear awkwardness, not knowing what to say or do, but after a couple of minutes and a shaky hand wiped across his face Jacob calmed a little, nodding to himself and then speaking again.

 

“I… I kind of… I had this great idea of hiding in plain sight,” he said, shaking his head at himself as though he realised just how foolish the idea sounded. “I… hung around near the ship actually for a bit, out of sight, obviously. Just for a few hours, watching people come and go, them trying to put the fire out, and look for people. Me,”

 

“And then?” Dean prompted when the pause felt too long.

 

“Well,” Jacob said, as though needing the time to think. “I… I remember sleeping on a golf course tucked away somewhere. Details are a little hazy. But then I stumbled about for a bit, watched this guy pull over to... to take a piss. Not paying any attention to his car – he left the engine running and everything; he was kind of asking for it when I took it, really,”

 

Dean silently agreed thinking about all the times he and Sam had done similar, but didn’t say a word.

 

“Ended up in Verona Falls. I… ditched my clothes, the guy had a couple of changes in the trunk and a few bills loose in the glove compartment. Walked into the first carpentry place I could find, cocky and sure of myself as anything; think I was kind of on a high from being on the run, you know? Showed ‘em what I could do, they took me on. No questions asked, nothing. Wouldn’t get away with that nowadays, right? And back then ID was so easy to forge,”

 

Dean smiled in agreement at Jacob’s laughter but still continued staring back at him unspeaking.

 

“So how’d you really come across that vinyl player? If you even ever did; you’ve still not told me how you know who I am,” Jacob asked then, his earlier suspicion rising to the surface all over again.

 

“We were down in Sandbridge. Stayed in this house. Player was there,” Dean shrugged as if everything had really been that easy, and Sam’s nod backed him up.

 

“Sandbridge?” Jacob repeated, shaking his head.

 

“Yeah. Your… your dad, uh… after you were reported, your… your Mom left. And… and he got discharged-”

 

“Discharged?” A disbelieving burst of laughter escaped from Jacob's mouth as he slowly shook his head, still wide-eyed.

 

“Yeah. Dishonourably, for- fighting, we think?”

 

“Pops? Fighting?”

 

“Apparently,”

 

Taking in the stunned look on his face Dean let that sink in for Jacob for a few seconds and then ploughed on. “After your Mom left-”

 

“Can’t believe she even _did_ that,” Jacob interrupted, wonder in his voice as his eyes grew a touch wider still.

 

“Yeah well, she _did_ ,” Dean repeated. “And your dad, uh… he rented a place in Sandbridge, apparently took down that player and a bunch of vinyl with him. Had a heart attack… and the realtor just… I guess held on to it. He, uh… he didn’t list any family so…”

 

Dean’s voice trailed away as Jacob nodded slowly, adjusting to his words.

 

“Guess that makes sense,”

 

After another while of silence Jacob turned to Dean, eyeing him shrewdly. “You can’t tell me you’ve come all this way over a damn record player,”

 

“No, I-”

 

“Which, by the way, _he_ must've carved initials into because I sure as hell wouldn't do anything to damage that thing. It was beautiful,”

 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, screwing up his face and giving a shoulder shrug of apology. “Kinda lied about that-”

 

“What do you want?” Jacob sneered, that suspicion sharp and becoming sharper, anger seeming to crackle across his shoulders. Dean had seen this so many times on talking to witnesses, suddenly finding themselves in the middle of revealing their life stories to complete strangers and figuring out that something was off about the entire conversation.

 

“You never thought to look your folks up?” Sam asked, attempting to change tactic, smooth and calm beside him.

 

“Why would I? I _deserted_. I- I could probably _still_ get-”

 

“We’re not here to rat you out-” Sam tried, cut off by the angry slamming down of Jacob’s glass against the table.

 

“Then why are you _here_?”

 

Dean’s phone buzzed at the same time and he pulled it from his pocket, reading and then rereading Cas’ message to say he was feeling a little better, his request for _something sweet_ when they returned made his mouth twist up in a bittersweet grin.

 

“He doing okay?” Sam asked, his voice quiet but carrying across the stillness of room.

 

“Uh, yeah. Apparently. Says he's hungry; gotta take that as a good sign, right?”

 

“Friend of yours?”

 

The snide tone in Jacob’s voice had Dean flip to being on irrational guard in a heartbeat, clenching his fists and mentally going over his stash of weapons on him ready to pounce if he needed to.

 

“Something like that, yeah,”

 

“ _Boy_ friend?” Jacob pushed, disgust dripping from the word as he glared Dean down, tension rippling through him and flushing his face.

 

“Yeah, actually. Got a problem with that?” Dean’s matching anger had him leaning forward an inch, glass gripped tightly against his leg and about to be smashed any second.

 

Jacob’s scowl back at him had Sam quietly shifting a touch closer to Dean, sliding his glass on to the table with Dean knowing he was bracing for a fight as well if it was needed.

 

“You come here… interrogate me… in my own home... when I don’t owe you jack, whoever the hell you-”

 

“Look,” Sam tried, “We didn’t come here to fight-”

 

“ _Andrew_ , huh?” Dean growled out, leaning closer and forgetting altogether his earlier guilt at their harassment of him, “Who’s _A_ , huh, Jacob? _Friend_ of yours?”

 

All the colour drained from Jacob’s face then and his pupils shrank to pinpoints, his body beginning to tremble as though he had no control over it.

 

“You wrote to an _A_ when you were on that ship, Jacob. Don’t take much to put two and two together-”

 

“How’d you find the letters?”

 

The brokenness in Jacob’s question had Dean pull back a touch, his anger drip away a fraction.

 

“They were folded inside some of the vinyl sleeves,”

 

If it were possible for Jacob to become any more still, he did it then, appearing to retreat into himself with his eyes glazing over and gazing through the table in front of them without seeming to see a single thing.

 

Dean looked over to Sam, saw his shrug, looked back again. Waited for Jacob to say, or do anything.

 

“I- I grew up near the sea,” Jacob said eventually. “Dad was… dad was stationed at Norfolk, and I grew up… grew up near the sea. Loved it. Still love it. Can’t bring myself to go back, though. Haven’t been back since I left that ship actually. Too many memories,”

 

Dean nodded, not taking his eyes off of him. “Any idea what your dad was doing in Sandbridge?”

 

Jacob began shaking his head slowly but then stopped, eyes growing a little wider.

 

Sam and Dean continued to observe the transformations across his face as he fought to get his words out, still hoping for something that might help with the case.

 

“Does the song _Beyond the Sea_ have any meaning to you?” Sam said a little later still, finding his impatience at Jacob’s silence getting the better of him.

 

A rapid inhale of breath and Jacob was staring at him, his mouth falling open a little in clear shock. “My- it was my Mom’s favourite song. And- and it… and then it was… it was one of _mine_ ,”

 

“And-”

 

“Get out,”

 

Jacob’s sudden outburst was full of fear, the shaking returning to his hands. “I don’t know why you’re here, or- or what you want. But get the hell outta here,”

 

Jacob was on his feet in a flash with Dean and Sam doing the same, the stand off bristling in the air around them as they stood glaring at one another.

 

Dean reached for his wallet, sliding out a card with his number on that he bent to put on the table, his eyes fixed on Jacob’s the entire time he moved.

 

“Get out,” he repeated, swallowing over and over.

 

Sam nodded to Dean and tipped his head towards the door, with Dean following him out and glancing back at Jacob, still stood awkwardly as though suspended between the table and the couch.

 

***

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warning for brief homophobic language**
> 
> **warning for a potential trigger - I promise nothing horrible for our favourites, but there is a mention of something that may be upsetting for some - if you're at all worried please look at the notes at the end**
> 
> xx

“Donuts. Peanut M&Ms. That _something sweet_ enough, Cas?”

 

Dean slid the two bags down on the cabinet to Cas’ side of the bed and watched with his heart in his mouth as Cas blinked himself awake. Cas' hand grabbed out towards him; Dean hoped he’d read it right when he laced his fingers through Cas’, watching him somewhere between carefully and fearfully for his reaction.

 

Cas sighed, still sounding exhausted despite clearly having been asleep for most of the time that he and Sam had been gone, gently pulling Dean towards him and dropping a kiss on the back of his hand.

 

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat at the gesture but forced a smile on his face, letting it sit there for when Cas looked back up at him.

 

“How was the meeting with Brook?”

 

“Uh,” Dean shrugged, “Not bad not good. He knows we know who he is, we’ve not got round to telling him why we’re here yet. He kinda kicked us out,”

 

Cas hummed to himself, pressing another kiss to Dean’s hand, a little longer this time.

 

“Lay with me,”

 

The quiet command in Cas’ voice had Dean nudging to sit beside him on the bed, bending to unlace and drag off his boots, standing again to shrug out of his jacket and shirt. He walked around to his side of the bed aware of Cas’ eyes on him the entire time, went to pull the duvet back but was beaten to it by Cas flicking it away for him. The second Dean was down Cas was shifting on top of him, slotting between his legs and curling up his hips in a fluid roll, claiming his mouth in a hot kiss that Dean took a second to respond to in his surprise at receiving it. When he did respond Cas growled into his mouth, an urgency about his kiss and his hips that Dean struggled to match.

 

Cas shifted again, reaching down to grab Dean’s legs so he’d know to wrap them high around him; Dean groaned as their hardnesses bumped together through the constriction of their jeans and rounded his hips up for every downward roll of Cas’, giving himself over to Cas and forgetting this was something he wasn’t supposed to get to have anymore. Cas smiled against his lips, his rolls becoming more languid, his kisses more tender, until they weren’t moving much at all. Pressed together at every point possible whilst both still fully clothed, Cas kissed Dean sweetly, as though savouring every taste of him.

 

Dean’s heart leapt and sank in equal measure, thankful to have whatever Cas was giving him but unable to get the reminder out of his head that this was probably just another in a series of _lasts_. It was torture trying to figure out which really would be the _very_ last; should he try to take more? Try to hold back altogether? Try to make his case for all of this intimacy between them being reasons enough for Cas not leaving him at all?

 

“I love you,” Dean found himself crying out pitifully and uncontrolled. Cas paused, pulling back to look at him with an expression Dean hated not being able to interpret before bending to peck a gentle kiss to his lips and shifting to smooth his hands over Dean’s legs, silently asking him to bring them back down.

 

Cas’ hands ran up Dean’s sides the moment his feet were back on the bed, thumbs stretching out to catch his nipples as he continued that upwards path, leaning on him so he could cradle Dean’s face in his hands and kiss him so tenderly Dean was unsurprised when he felt the first fall of tears on his cheeks.

 

What did throw Dean was opening his eyes to the realisation that those first tears belonged to Cas, and seeing that brightness looking so forlornly back at him had hot tears springing from his eyes as well. And this time when they kissed, it was filled with so much sadness, that if Dean believed it was actually possible he’d swear he could feel his heart cracking in two.

 

Dean’s mind whispered at him to beg yet again for Cas not to leave him, but it was so peaceful in that moment between them that he was frightened to disturb it, instead chose to cling on, kiss back, savour as he was being savoured, until the pain of knowing Cas would go soon became too much.

 

Dean leaned up to press into Cas’ neck and wrapped his arms around him tightly, shuddering and sobbing quietly against him as he felt Cas’ own tears sliding cold down his neck.

 

Cas rolled them on to their sides a while later, tucked up against one another with hands joined between their chests and their free ones resting lightly on their waists. Shuffling closer together until their faces were turned to the very edges of their pillows they stared at one another, a sense of longing and finality twirling up in the sorrow so close to tangible there in the room.

 

A quiet resignation settled on Dean all over again, as he made a quiet acknowledgement to himself that even after Cas was gone, he’d still feel the same. He’d still love him like he knew full well he never had any other, and he’d take that love to the grave with him, live the rest of his life alone, however long he got.

 

Dean offered up a watery excuse of a smile, leaning forward for one more kiss then settled back, closing his eyes. He could feel Cas staring at him and let him look, let him see the tears still leaking from him without any attempt at pretending it wasn’t happening.

 

“Dean-”

 

Dean shook his head once, a quick snap against his pillow. Felt Cas sighing but still wouldn’t open his eyes to him. Felt him stretch, press a kiss to his forehead then roll back a touch, before groaning with the effort of hauling himself upright to sit against the headboard.

 

Dean smiled as he heard the rustle of paper telling him Cas was going for the donuts. The thought of all that sugar had bile rising in his throat, which he swallowed against before he could face opening his eyes and looking up at him.

 

Cas smiled around the mouthful of donut and Dean couldn’t hold back his own, pushing himself up and shuffling until he was sat by Cas’ side. Dean allowed himself to drop his head down against Cas’ shoulder, smiling as he wriggled to make them both more comfortable, and let his eyes drop closed again.

 

***

 

Dean woke to the sound of his phone ringing, jolting there beside Cas and disorientated by the light outside announcing it was no later than afternoon when it seemed that it should be so much later. A quick check of his phone as he struggled it out of his pocket told him he’d slept around three hours, though the way his body sluggishly protested against any kind of movement it felt like a whole lot more.

 

“Hello?” He barked blearily, jumping when Cas’ fingers reached out to catch through his own, and in the process making Dean’s heart sink and race all over again.

 

“Uh… uh… you came to see me?”

 

Dean sat a little taller, blinking himself awake. “Jacob?”

 

“Something… something’s happening,”

 

From the tone of Jacob’s voice, Dean wanted to retort that what apparently was happening was that he’d sank that bottle of whiskey on his coffee table since he and Sam had left, but he didn’t, just cradled the phone to his ear as he waited in silence for him to continue.

 

“There’s… I don’t know, man, there’s something _here_ ,”

 

The genuine bafflement in the man’s voice had Dean quietly sighing, squeezing Cas’ fingers and beginning to shuffle himself off the bed.

 

“I’ll head over-”

 

“What’s happening?” Jacob demanded, that bafflement replaced by fear, blatant in his voice, forcing Dean to move a little faster, try to wedge on his boots one handed.

 

“I’ll head over,” he repeated as he hung up, quickly tying his laces and patting himself down for his wallet and keys.

 

“Dean,”

 

Dean turned to see Cas struggling upright himself, stand shakily and lean down for his boots to slide on.

 

“No,” Dean began in protest when he'd become unglued from just watching him, rushing forward to hold him up as he staggered; Cas didn’t even look at him, just stood there swaying a little, screwing up his face with the concentration of staying upright then walked over and shrugged into his own jacket.

 

“No,” Dean repeated; Cas gave him a look brokering no argument and let himself out of the motel room, with Dean staring after him open mouthed for a second then rolling his eyes up at the ceiling in frustration, grabbing up his holdall and heading out himself.

 

Dean threw himself into the driver’s seat after tossing the bag into the trunk and throwing in some more salt filled bullets as well as a bunch of other things he didn’t know if he’d need or not but still wanted to hand. He paused to send Sam a quick message telling him where they were heading; Sam hadn’t said a single word to him on the drive from Jacob’s earlier, disappearing into his own room the second they were back, and Dean thought that might be because Sam for once genuinely didn’t know what to say.

 

As Dean drove the short distance to Jacob’s house Cas reached across the seat and gave his leg a gentle squeeze, withdrawing it seconds later so that the heat teased Dean in parting, leaving him wondering as he was always wondering of late if he would ever get to feel that again. He wanted to reach across, curl his fingers into Cas’ as he’d done so many times before, feel anchored to him. But he wasn’t, so he couldn’t, and instead Dean kept his focus on what was in front of him, mentally preparing for whatever they would find.

 

On pulling up Cas’ eyes cast over the house in polite interest, following Dean out of the car and either deliberately or accidentally bumping their elbows together as they waited for the door to be answered.

 

Jacob flung the door open wide seconds later, his face strained and frightened, his stagger confirming to Dean just as he’d expected about him drinking. Jacob waved them in, Cas still following Dean in silence and sinking down beside him on the couch in clear relief after the strain of walking, looking up as the lights flickered lazily above them.

 

“So?” Dean asked with a turn out of his hands in his lap; Jacob made a fuss of bringing them all cups of coffee and slumped down on the couch opposite them once it was done. Dean snorted to himself in amusement at them sitting around for something as mundane as coffee like they were friends that had just dropped in for an impromptu visit instead of strangers coming to talk about a probable ghost.

 

“Started right after you left; I called the neighbours seeing if it was happening to them, called the power company. Nothing,”

 

“Oh yeah?” Dean said, unable to keep the scepticism from his voice. “What's _it_?”

 

“The lights,” Jacob gestured with a wide fling of his arm. “They're... they won't stop flickering, or... or buzzing. I've changed three bulbs already because they blew right out,”

 

“And this is it? All of it?” Dean looked up in disbelief, though attempting to remind himself that for everyday living, having your lights constantly flickering on and off wasn’t something to come to expect as _normal_.

 

“There’s been… shuffling. Like… footsteps… crashing, some kinda- some kinda voice, or sound, or- I don’t know!” Jacob’s voice cracked with exasperation and again Dean took pity on him, reaching out for his and Cas’ coffee and watching as Jacob attempted to drink his own; difficult with the way his fingers twitched and trembled around his cup.

 

“The... the door to my studio, where I work. It keeps... it keeps opening and closing by itself. I went in and shut the door after you guys left earlier, so its not... it's not like there's a breeze coming in or anything. And I swear; the sander's started up by itself at least a dozen times by now. I can hear it from even here,”

 

Dean watched in silence as Jacob's fearful eyes turned in the direction of that door, sinking his head down into his neck as though retreating there, terrified he was about to hear those noises all over again.

 

Cas coughed and rolled forward beside him; Dean's attention was shifted in a heartbeat and he quickly grabbed Cas' cup to slide back on to the table, wrapping a tight arm around him, pulling him in closer.

 

“Go wait in the car-”

 

“No,” Cas' shake of his head was adamant, though it was difficult to tell through the bout of wheezing that hit him out of nowhere. Alarmed, Dean’s hand stroked over his back to soothe him and he bent forward a little to try to look him in the eye, hoping to reason with him, wondering how close the nearest urgent care was.

 

“I will be fine,” Cas nodded away Dean’s concerns, trying to shift away from him, though unconvincing in the weakness of his words and movements. Dean pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head to show his disapproval but straightened back up, keeping one hand firmly on the middle of his back as he turned to look over at Jacob.

 

“He- he okay?”

 

Jacob’s eyes strayed and lingered over Cas, a doubtful expression on his face which had Dean tensing up against though fighting to not show any reaction to.

 

“He’s fine. Just a little sick’s all.”

 

“You sure about that?” Jacob asked as Cas gave out a pitiful groan, toppling forward a little. Dean squeezed him a little tighter, wrapping his fingers high around his waist and pulling him closer back to him again.

 

With his eyes firmly on Cas, Dean bit out an impatient, “Jacob, you didn’t call us here to talk about-”

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Dean raised his eyes to look over at Jacob, shrugging his shoulders to show he didn’t understand the question.

 

“You show up at my house… I don’t even know your _name_ , and yet you- you know everything about me. _Everything_. And then you leave and my house… my house goes kinda crazy, you know?”

 

Jacob stared Dean down, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly with the intensity of his emotions, demanding answers in every way he could.

 

Dean stared back without a single word, not ready to give even an inch yet, far more concerned about how weak Cas was beside him yet a cold feeling creeping right through him as he tried to work out how he hadn't already forcibly dragged Cas out to the car and taken him to be checked over.

 

“I’m… this is a haunting. Isn’t it?” Jacob asked, attempting to force a conversation.

 

The directness of Jacob’s question still didn’t touch Dean, not allowing himself to even shift on it, though realising with that coldness seeping in sharper meant he was suddenly unable to shift himself much of any distance at all.

 

“It’s… that’s why you’re here. Isn’t it? I’m not… I don’t… I can’t say I’ve ever believed all that stuff,” Jacob added quickly, sounding oddly defensive, “but-”

 

“So why would you start now?” Dean asked calmly, staring back as neutrally as before, despite the rapid pounding of his heart. “Why change your mind just ‘cos-”

 

“Just ‘cos two guys show up on my doorstep telling me my parents are dead?” Jacob snorted, clearly thinking Dean was making fun of him. “Think I’m too dumb to put two and two together?”

 

“It would be an unusual connection,” Cas contributed, raising himself up enough to pin Jacob in place with a stare across the room that Dean smiled secretly to himself to see had him squirming.

 

The three of them jumped in unison at the loud crack of a door being slammed shut, Jacob's eyes inching wider and rounder at the soft buzz of the sander starting up, drifting muffled to them through the closed door. A click and the TV blinked to life, though for only a few seconds, blasting the room with the sound of a news report before it clicked straight off again. An indistinguishable whispering sound started off to Dean's side, making him turn his head rapidly, and again as it appeared to be coming from the other side of the room next to Jacob before it disappeared altogether.

 

“What aren’t you telling me?” Jacob demanded, his voice high pitched and pleading towards the end of his question.

 

“Will you listen?” Again Cas was on him, calmly expecting his attention in that way he did that had Dean swelling with pride to see. “Will you listen to what we have to tell you, uninterrupted and reserving judgement until we are finished?”

 

“Y-yeah. Sure. Just… what the hell is going on?”

 

Dean cleared his throat as Jacob’s eyes dragged between the two of them, steepling his fingers briefly against Cas’ back before flattening out his palm.

 

“Thing is. This is… this is sorta what we do.”

 

“You’re ghost hunters or something? Sorry-”

 

Jacob’s quick apology for the interruption Dean assumed was a result of Cas’ glare. But he nodded, choosing his words carefully before starting up again, continuing to scan around the room as bumps and knocks echoed about them with no clear point of origin.

 

“We… we found out about some… stuff happening in a house down in Sandbridge. Went to investigate, found all the stuff you just mentioned - lights flickering, strange noises - all of it. Kinda run-of-the-mill for this sorta thing, in case you’re wondering. Usually works out if there’s a ghost. A… spirit that's still here when it shoulda gone on long before now, it’s tied, usually to a person, a place, a thing. Depends; in this case we thought it was your dad’s turntable and vinyl-”

 

“It was my turntable,” Jacob interrupted again, though quiet and soft, and without looking over to catch Cas’ disapproval. “I… when I was a kid… maybe in my early teens even I guess to start with. Pops would- Sundays, you know. Pops-”

 

Dean sat still and watched as Jacob tried to get a hold of himself, looked up again as the light above them stuttered on and off, saw Jacob nodding to himself and knew to wait a moment more.

 

“We… Sundays after lunch we would… we would go into his old study, and I’d… I’d bring down my player and vinyl, and we’d just… play some of my stuff, some of his... some of Mom's. Just sit and listen to it all for a while. And even though… even though we had this huge beast of a CD player downstairs it was… the vinyl thing… it was our time, you know? Our thing. Father-son bonding, I guess. And you know - nothing beats the sound of vinyl, right? Not even now,”

 

Dean nodded and gave a small smile of agreement.

 

“So… so I guess I’m wondering why the vinyl and everything ended up there, of all places. But then… you know I can’t be sure, because it’s been so long. But I’ve got a vague memory of him saying he took my mom down to Sandbridge when they were teenagers, right before he proposed,”

 

Dean waited another moment letting that information sink in and fill what felt like seemed an unimportant part of the puzzle.

 

“So,” Dean started up again, a hand still pressed into Cas’ back, “Best way to get rid of a ghost is to… burn the thing that’s keeping them here, or their bones, or…”

 

Dean trailed off, seeing the look of horror on Jacob’s face as he realised what Dean was saying to him, waited for Jacob to nod him on to pick up again.

 

“And we did that, thought it was done. But it didn’t make any difference; the lights, the noises… the… there’s been some… some, uh, _aggression_ ,”

 

Jacob’s eyes trailed over to Cas, hesitant and mistrustful. “And… and it’s done something to him?”

 

“Yes,” Cas sighed, looking back over at Jacob and sagging into Dean’s side.

 

“So… so you’ve come here to- what. What do you think I can do about it?”

 

Dean first took in the tone of defensiveness of Jacob’s response, second the way he seemed to be so accepting of what they were telling him. He let it sit for a while, watching back in silence as he attempted to figure out the puzzle, then shrugged his shoulders to show he didn’t know.

 

“We’re not sure of anything, okay? We… we sought you out when- when we realised you weren’t actually dead. Thought… I don’t know… thought maybe you’d know something, or maybe if we came here-”

 

“Thought you said ghosts got tied to a person, place or thing?” Jacob interrupted, eyes narrowing with suspicion and sounding, Dean thought to himself, a touch condescending as he spoke.

 

“Usually, yeah,” Dean agreed, fighting against his impatience, finding it unsettling the way the tension in the air seemed to box them in as though it too was listening to them, though all movements around them and flickering lights had by that moment stopped.

 

“But sometimes,” Dean continued, giving a vague shrug, “who knows, man? This stuff don’t exactly come with a rulebook,”

 

Jacob rolled his eyes and crossed his arms tightly across his chest, thankfully looking slightly more focused now than he had done when they’d first arrived. “So basically you’re telling me you brought a ghost into my home-”

 

“Basically yeah,” Dean laughed, shaking his head. “But technically-”

 

“If you've _brought_ a ghost here,” Jacob cut him off, narrowing his eyes with such accusation in them Dean felt himself trying to lean away from it. “Tell me. If you're right about spirit being attached to _people, places or things_ , then which one of you is it 'attached' to? Got to be _you_ ; you're the one that's been here twice now. And why... how come it's now here, in my house, and not with you wherever you went when you left here this morning? Why's it staying here? Why's it gotten even worse in here since you both arrived?”

 

“We...” Dean began, bracing himself for whatever reaction Jacob might have. “We... we _think_ it’s your dad, so-”

 

“I- I don’t think it’s him,”

 

Dean shook his head, thrown by Jacob's easy dismissal of their idea and what seemed to be his contradictory responses. He stared back, shaking his head, trying to work out from Jacob's demeanour exactly what he was missing. “Oh yeah? That- that why you’re sat here listening and not freaking out about it? Despite not _believing in all this stuff_? Like... you're expecting someone or something, maybe?”

 

The second Jacob's eyes twitched at his words Dean came to a stop, waiting a couple of seconds trying to see what other reactions he was having before adding, “‘Cos I gotta tell you, Jacob; usually this stuff don’t wash this easy. Not unless someone’s had… I don’t know. Personal experience of it,”

 

“Maybe I’ve seen some things,” Jacob shrugged, his eyes seeming to fixate on Cas, which disturbed Dean more than any of the noises and flickering lights that started up again out of nowhere every few minutes.

 

“What things?”

 

Jacob hesitated for a moment; Dean had the distinct impression he was carefully selecting what he would and wouldn't share with them. “Place I used to work at here before I started working for myself… there were stories… no one liked going in this one particular room alone. Couple of people said they had stuff thrown at them. I didn’t see anything myself, but… enough people say they’d seen it, so…”

 

“So? Simple as that?” Dean laughed, never willing to think it could be that easy.

 

“Gotta be something to all those TV shows,” Jacob shrugged, his eyes wandering off around the room again.

 

“So,” Dean tried to rein in Jacob’s focus, “who’d you think it is if it’s not your dad?”

 

A sad thought settled on Dean's stomach then, his eyes drawn automatically to the single picture of Jacob's daughter Charlotte and hoping he was jumping to conclusions.

 

Jacob sat back a little, his eyes slowly dragging across to Dean before settling on Cas once more.

 

“Shouldn’t we help him-”

 

“I do not _need_ your help,” Cas growled out, raising his head from where it had dropped of its own accord to glare across the room once again. Dean leaned into him trying to calm him, worrying about him expending any extra energy when he was already so weak, and feeling the tension pulsing there beneath his skin.

 

“Maybe it’d be helping him if we figured this stuff out,” Dean suggested, realising with quiet horror the truth to his words, along with the wishful thinking behind them. Cas was getting weaker and weaker by the minute, with apparently no rhyme or reason for it. Why was whatever this thing was draining him so much harder than it was himself, and apparently having no impact on Jacob at all? How had they managed to bring it here with them in the first place?

 

Jacob stared back at Cas in silence, and it took all of Dean’s willpower not to bark out a demand for him to talk. He watched as Jacob opened and closed his mouth a few times, and when he eventually dragged his eyes back to Dean’s the hollowness there had Dean flexing his fingers against Cas’ back.

 

“I… I think… I-”

 

Jacob cut himself off again, letting his eyes sink closed, balling up his fists, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before dropping his gaze again, with brightness there that Dean hadn’t seen just a moment before.

 

“Andrew Harris,”

 

A charged feeling hit the air around them, Dean feeling his skin prickle and crawl. He blinked at the unfamiliar name, though saw perhaps a reason for Jacob’s fake one of _Andrew Green,_ even if the picture didn’t yet make sense to him.

 

“Andrew Harris,” Dean repeated, watching as Jacob nodded back at him slowly with ever startled-looking eyes.

 

“Andrew was… was _A_ in my letters… in those letters you found,” Jacob stuttered out, looking so surprised Dean had the immediate impression he was astonished at himself for even getting the words out.

 

“He was… he had... he had the most incredible green eyes...” Jacob tried again, looking so very torn Dean felt another slither of sympathy for him. “He was… Andrew was everything to me. And I mean… _everything_. And I’m not talking just some... some _thing_. He really... he really was _everything,_ ”

 

Another part of the puzzle started to slide into place for Dean, slowly nodding his head as things began to make a little more sense to him. “You, uh… you and him… you- you were _together_?”

 

“Yeah,” Jacob dropped back heavy against the sofa, tears slowly cascading down his cheeks as though he couldn’t feel them there on his skin. “Yeah. We were,”

 

“...When?”

 

Jacob didn't answer Dean's question, continuing to stare at Cas, though Dean imagined it was more likely that he was staring right through him.

 

“Jacob,” Dean prompted with no small amount of impatience when Jacob still didn't answer him. A longer pause followed then he was sitting forward, wringing his hands together between his knees, dropping his gaze down to the carpet in front of him.

 

When Jacob spoke again, his voice was soft, bordering on reverent.

 

“Andrew walked into my life when we were fifteen years old, and I can picture it like it was yesterday- like all the best cliches, right? It was a hot summer’s day about a month before the summer break. There was sweat trickling down the back of my neck into my t-shirt collar from the heat as I slumped over my desk with my elbows sticking to it, because it was one of the hottest summers on record. None of us were paying much attention to whatever it was we were learning; I can tell you it was math class and that's about it.

 

“I suppose like most of my class I was daydreaming about ice cream and going swimming the second class was over when _he_ walked in. He opened that classroom door, a new student starting at the most ridiculous time of the year. He… he walked in, mumbled an introduction to the class, and… and he stalked to the back of the classroom… and I... I couldn’t stop myself from looking round at him.”

 

Jacob’s eyes flickered over to Dean’s then, and Dean could almost feel his fear of being judged. He nearly pointed out how needless that fear was given the fact that he was sat there all but draped around Cas, but he stopped himself, instead forced patience on himself to wait for Jacob to find the courage to keep on talking.

 

“I… I guess I’d suspected I was… knew that I was... that I was… _gay_ …” Dean grit his teeth at the way Jacob said the word, small and quiet as though it was still a terrible secret to him, “right from when I was in my early teens. I just didn’t… I didn’t _feel_ the way my friends talked about the girls around us… my- my eyes were always on _them_. You know?”

 

If Jacob was looking for solidarity from Dean, which he seemed to be from the way his eyes flitted between he and Cas constantly, Dean kept silent. This wasn’t his story, and this wasn’t his ghost; Jacob eventually got the message and cleared his throat, starting up again.

 

“His… his mom... it was like she was trying to start their lives over. Andrew's dad sounded just as much of a dick as mine, but he'd died not that long before in a furnace fire at the place where he'd worked so... so we didn't talk too much about it. Not too much, anyway. His mom drove them down to be closer to his grandmother – her mother – and that's how he ended up there.

 

“And Andrew and I, we… well from that very first moment there was this… buzz between us. We... one of the first things we kind of bonded over was having dads we'd lost all respect for. I... straight from that class we went for that ice cream and... I can't tell you how hard it was for me when he... when he said he'd come swimming with me. I just... I remember... I remember Andrew... I remember he shrugged out of his t-shirt and threw it down on the side of the pool we were at and... and I just... I had to jump right in to the water because... because I couldn't let him see- couldn't let _anyone_ see what he'd _done_ to me just by standing there, you know? I felt... I felt like such an idiot when he was so calm, so... so unaffected by me.

 

“By two weeks after that first meeting in class he and I had started spending a lot of time together outside of school, almost all of it in fact. And two weeks after that at the start of the summer vacation, he got this look in his eye like he was just about terrified. He... he stalked across from where he'd been leaning against the railing to one side, wrapped his hands around my shoulders – I could feel how hard he was shaking- and then he kissed me, right there out on the porch of his mother’s house, the smell of his mom's baking wafting out to us where we stood. And for the first time in my whole life… I felt _right_.

 

“We kept it secret; 1991 wasn’t exactly a great time to be gay and in high school, right?”

 

Dean snorted without humour, shaking his head, smiling sadly at Jacob's story. “When’s any time a good time to be in high school?”

 

“Fair,” Jacob agreed, allowing himself a small smile. “Anyway… we snuck about. We… it was… my whole perspective shifted, you know? I- I let myself think for the first time that there might not be anything _wrong_ with me, you know? Because being with him felt anything but wrong. And his mom… his mom wasn’t stupid; there’s only so many times she could catch us half dressed coming out of his bedroom or walking in on us curled up on each other on the couch when we'd fallen asleep studying without… without… _knowing._ And she just... she didn't say anything at all but... but she just... she just accepted it. Accepted _us_. She... she was the only one who... she was the only one who _knew_ ,”

 

“So what happened?” Dean found himself prompting again, curiosity getting the better of him as he leaned in to hear the rest of the story.

 

Jacob took another moment, his eyes often drifting off to stare unseeingly across the room. “He… for… for almost two years… we had that. It was… I’d been so alone before. So… such a loner. I now… I had… I had a best friend… a- a _boyfriend_. A- someone who believed in me, unquestioningly, who was always there to support me no matter what I did. I had… I felt like I had it all. And you know... I really did. I really did. We had... what we had was so... so _right_. So _easy_. It was like... it was like we- we just slotted together easy as anything. I felt loved, I _was_ loved, so much, so much... and I... god how I loved him... I loved him so, so very much, sometimes I just... it felt like my chest was going to explode with it, which, I know, sounds so whimsical but... but we were _like_ that.

 

“I could... I could give you details of dates, or the things we did together, or how... how it just felt _perfect_ , but... I can't put into words how _alive_ Andrew made me. How... how _whole_...”

 

Jacob's voice drifted off again; Dean felt a bitter wave of sorrow for him but cleared his throat to ask him to go on.

 

“Anyway, I guess we- Andrew and I, we got a little... careless. Sneaking in through windows in the middle of the night, making out in the kitchen knowing someone could walk in at any minute… we were… we were in love, and it… it started to hurt that we couldn’t just be that; not when all the people around us in school were all over each other and free to be however they wanted to be without anyone making their lives hell.

 

“There was this... there was one guy out in our year. One kid; his life was just _hell_. He was... there was never a day when he wasn't shoved into a locker, leaving the school with something ripped, or torn, or bruises on his face. I... I honestly don't know how he kept showing up at school every day but... but we... Andrew and I, we... we watched him, we didn't want that for each other so... we just... we just kept quiet, made vague noises about absent girlfriends in other schools... anything so we'd be left alone.

 

“We started planning to go off to college together. Far enough away from the people we knew to just be us, you know? In the hope that- that the promised freedom of college meant we could just _be_ together, be _ourselves_. We… we started looking into it as soon as we were juniors, started preparing applications… had it all planned out.

 

“And then one night, after I’d got back from Andrew’s late, sneaking in through the window and thinking how best to cover up the hickey on my neck ‘cos we’d gotten a little… carried away earlier. My dad, he… came striding into my room, pinned me up by my neck against my bedroom door and… called me every name under the sun. Said he’d… he’d seen me and Andrew down by the school earlier that day. I… there was this… this shortcut from the back of our school right down to Andrew’s house, and I… I still can’t work out to this day how he saw us. _No_ one knew about it. I still think about it all the time, how we could’ve… how _I_ could’ve…”

 

Dean held his breath as Jacob’s words ran away from him, watching as he fought to go on.

 

“Pops… he was… he was _mad_. Like… _So_ mad. Dragged me across the room and threw me into my desk chair, forced me to sit. I... I remember my knee smarting like anything from where it hit the desk as he shoved me. And he leaned over me and showed me the form he’d filled in for me along with his parental consent signature and… and just like that he was forcing me to sign my name and I… I was enlisted. Snatched up the form and tucked it away out of reach when I made to grab at it and rip it up.

 

“He dragged me back up, barricading the doorway as I yelled and screamed to be let out and… and he gave me exactly three minutes to get a bag together before he dragged me down the stairs, forced me to say goodbye to my mom… she just… she stood there, crying, she didn’t- couldn’t do a thing. And I yelled and I screamed for him to at least let me drive by Andrew’s house, just to… just to let him know. Just- just to say _goodbye._ I begged him to. Just to tell Andrew I didn’t want to go. But he wouldn’t, he _wouldn’t..._ ”

 

Dean watched the tears continue to leak down Jacob’s face at his memories, swallowing hard himself to see it.

 

“Pops… he… we drove all the way down to the base with me still kicking and screaming and we pulled over right outside. He… he pulled me across the seat by the throat right up to his face, said he didn’t want anyone to know his son was a _faggot_ and if I didn’t stop crying like a bitch he’d give me something real to cry about. He… he threatened Andrew, said- said if I didn’t play nice first thing he’d do was head over to his house and… and… and there'd be no one left for me to be a faggot _with_. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t take that risk that he'd hurt him, that'd he'd do anything to him...

 

“He had me under constant surveillance on the base, it was like- like I couldn't even _breathe_ by myself. I- it’s probably not even legal but he had me followed everywhere I went, locked away in a room when I wasn't training, wouldn’t let me even shower unsupervised, only let me call my mom after a week and even then he dialled the phone himself so I couldn’t. So I couldn’t…”

 

Jacob took another break, his eyes round and his breathing coming out in sharp blasts, the atmosphere in the room becoming even more stifling and on edge.

 

“And… and… and the next week…”

 

Jacob’s sobs were audible now instead of the breathy gasps of earlier, loud and hopeless things echoing out into the room. Cas sagged prone beside him, yet Dean felt like his weight there against him was holding _him_ in place, giving him something to grip on to as it continued to feel like the very air was closing in.

 

“I rang my mom… with… with Pops standing right over me… and she told me… she told me…”

 

Jacob lost control of himself then, doubled over in pain and taking a few minutes before he could even control his broken hiccuping and sit upright again.

 

“Andrew hung himself, two weeks after I left. There’s… there was a tree that was so tall it would… its branches would scratch up against his bedroom window in the wind and… and he got out on it that night when he knew his mom was working late and… and…”

 

Jacob shook his head, dissolving into tears all over again; Dean watched in silence, suspended between wanting to help, wanting to fix things for him, and wanting this thing over so that they could leave.

 

“My… I found out ‘cos my Mom… Andrew’s mom went round to our place and all but beat the door down to talk to her. My- my mom hadn’t even known who she was, and… Andrew was… to her he was just another boy in school. A _friend_. Andrew and I, we’d… we’d kept our secret, so well, for so long, that… I swear… if my Mom had known she would’ve… She would’ve told him what happened, she _would_ have, I _know_ she would, and… and Andrew wouldnt’ve… he wouldn’tve…”

 

Jacob lost himself all over again and Dean felt yet another wave of hurt for him, let his eyes drop closed for a second as though that would shut it all out.

 

“And I just… I _ran_. I- I still don’t really know how I did it but I got off that base and got myself back to town and… and I went straight to Andrew’s and… and his mom opened her arms to me and we collapsed right there on the front porch and just… we just cried ‘till we couldn’t anymore.

 

“She… she took me inside afterwards and led me up to Andrew’s room… I’d… I’d carved us both these wooden rings, sort of as a joke but also as a kind of promise… and Andrew had been wearing his when he… when... And… and she wanted me to have it and… and… and we sat there for hours just talking about him, crying all over again. She told me… told me to go back to the Navy, do what I had to, get away from my dad as soon as I could, and that… that she’d always be there if I needed to listen. She gave me Andrew’s sweater to sleep in…”

 

The torture in Jacob’s voice pricked tears in Dean’s own eyes, watching back helplessly as Jacob dragged out the remainder of his story.

 

“I guess… I guess the next morning… I dragged myself home. My mom was sort of beside herself with worry because I'd been reported missing. While she was on the phone to my dad I went upstairs, unscrewed the back of that vinyl player and taped the ring inside. I don’t even really know why I did it. I guess… I… I had some of my happiest memories just… just dancing with him, you know? I’d… take the player over to his house and we’d just… dance and laugh and… and… and I didn’t know how else to keep close to him.

 

“I fished my ring out of this little wooden box I’d carved and wore it back to base, took my punishment, took my dad’s fists and everything else he threw at me - both legal and not legal. Kept writing to Andrew; dad found out of course and regularly came in and burned a stash of them, but I always… I always found a place to hide some. I…

 

“I have never forgiven my father nor myself for what happened to Andrew. I’ve never… I've never forgiven _myself_. I’ve never loved anyone else either; Sarah and I just sort of happened because the place I was working at started making noises about me _needing a woman_ , and… I just… it wasn’t me. It was never _me_.

 

“I’ve had… half a dozen… I can’t even give them any label, really… with… with _men_ over the years…” Jacob’s eyes jumped to Dean’s then, startled, the truth of his confession sinking in on him and Jacob still seeming to expect some kind of disapproval for it.

 

Dean smiled thinly, not knowing what else he could offer him.

 

Jacob squared his shoulders then dropped them down, nodding to himself before he could bring himself to look at Dean again. And when he spoke, his voice told of hope, of fear, and of so much sorrow that Dean felt trapped in his stare.

 

“Because as right as it felt… as those _things_ were… as right as it _was…_ none of them were ever Andrew. None of them will ever _be_ Andrew. And... and despite what I said to you earlier, and I know that this is going to sound all kinds of stupid. But you showed up on my doorstep this morning like something out of my nightmares, and I knew. Either you were going to bring me in for my court martial… or you were gonna bring me _him_.”

 

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a mention of a hanging, there is also mention of a parent being violent; repeat, this is not involving any of the SPN characters


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **warning for brief homophobic language**

Dean watched Jacob slump under the weight of his own confession, splayed back against the couch as though he was broken. He watched still as Jacob rolled himself forward and stood, listened as he disappeared from sight and heard him retching violently only to return a moment later with a fresh bottle of whiskey that he didn’t look intent on sharing.

 

“Gonna sound crazy, but… I always kinda hoped- kinda expected Andrew might… might come back for me. Punish me or something for what I let happen-”

 

“Don’t sound like you _let_ anything happen, Jacob,” Dean interjected, shaking his head slow and showing his full disagreement. “Sounds like your dad was a piece of work. I’m sorry, but-”

 

“No it’s true. He was- he _could_ be. When he wanted to be he was the meanest bastard you can imagine. And the thing is… he hid it. Played a role. He had this… exemplary record, worked his way steadily up through the Navy, never doing quite enough to earn any kind of big attention but just… getting through, keeping quiet. But to me… to _Mom_... “

 

“I’m still sorry, man. It’s…”

 

Jacob waved away Dean’s attempt at sympathy, cracking the lid of the bottle open with a precise twist and taking a long glug from it.

 

“It's why when you said he was dead… I couldn’t feel anything. I _can’t_ feel anything… I don’t even feel relief. I… I don’t know what I feel,”

 

Cas groaned quietly at Dean’s side then, with Dean’s grip around him tightening and him leaning forward a little to get to his eye level.

 

“Hey,” Dean whispered, attempting a reassuring smile, “please… go wait in the car,”

 

Cas shook his head but slumped a little closer to Dean, making him grit his teeth in frustration at his stubbornness but briefly lean in to press his chin into Cas' shoulder before straightening back up.

 

“So what’s your deal?”

 

Jacob’s question had Dean jolting back to look at him, with Dean noting the searching way his eyes continued to flit between he and Cas and feeling himself tense up all over again for it.

 

“Our _deal’s_ nothing to do with this-”

 

“Sure it is,” Jacob countered, tilting his chin in Cas' direction. “Something’s happening to him. And something’s obviously wrong with the two of you-”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“How long have you been together?” Jacob demanded, Dean recoiling from the sting of interference and scowling back at him.

 

“A while. And it’s got-”

 

“Let me guess. Rough patch?”

 

Dean’s stomach churned over in response, leaving him swallowing sickly and staring back seething.

 

“It's obvious. Way you keep looking at him, way you’re looking all uncertain. I’ve had time to- to study people a _lot_. Since I can’t… I can’t bring myself to even… I can’t _have_ that for myself any more. I tried, but I-”

 

“You said you expected Andrew to come get you?” Dean cut him off brutally in an attempt to force the focus back to where he wanted it. Jacob stared back at him as he nodded slowly, taking another gulp of the whiskey without so much as wincing at the sting of it, and not breaking the eye contact they had for a second.

 

“Truth is… I got a little obsessed with it for a while. A _long_ while. It sort of… it gave me something to do, you know?”

 

“What did?”

 

“Ghosts. Paranormal. Got to watching all the ghost stuff I could. Went to mediums... I had the biggest crush you can imagine on John Edwards for a while,” Jacob’s mouth turned up at the corners at that, grinning to himself a little before it dropped again and he looked back over at Dean just as sad as before.

 

“I… a part of me wanted to try and contact him. Say sorry, you know? Part of me wanted Andrew to just... to come and haunt me, to come kick my ass… I… I guess that sounds sort of desperate,”

 

“No judgement here,” Dean promised, giving the smallest shakes of his head.

 

“You know…” Jacob’s gaze drifted in consideration back to Cas, fixing on him in a way Dean found he really didn’t like, “I know what I said earlier about not believing, but. It's... I guess it's not exactly _normal_ to talk about these kinds of things. Not with... not with regular folk, anyway. Can't exactly walk up to someone in the line at Starbucks and start up a conversation about... I don't know. Scrying techniques, the best way to use a planchet, or... or inviting them over for some table tipping, or to test out a new angel board-”

 

“Angel board?” Dean interrupted, stuck between disdain and cautious respect that Jacob had clearly taken the time to learn about all of these things. Even if some of them were in his experience little more than kid's games.

 

“Yeah, angel board,” Jacob nodded back at him, his face set in earnest, “More or less the same principle as a ouija board, people just... I guess people associate ouija with _bad_ and angel with _good_ – it's kind of odd that we've latched on to angels being these fluffy winged butter-wouldn't-melt _beings_ when the bibles – all the religious texts in fact depict them as these fierce warriors that could smite the life right out of you if you so even much dared to _look_ at them,”

 

Beside him, and weak as he was, Cas still managed to make a noise that was somewhere between disgruntled, indignant and offended and had Dean biting back a bark of laughter, giving him a quick squeeze of solidarity as he fought back a smile.

 

Oblivious, Jacob pinched his lips together and dropped his gaze from Dean, staring down at the carpet as he picked up again. “I didn't... I didn't know what I should- could say to you. People just... people think you're crazy if you're into this stuff, you know? But the truth is I’ve read… everything. Watched, anything and everything I could get my hands on about ghosts, the afterlife, contact. Even been on a few courses; since I started working for myself anyway, – not like I got anyone around my water cooler to gossip about myself with, is it? 'Who's the weirdo spending all his time learning about ghosts?'”

 

Jacob laughed at himself then, leaving Dean with a strange twist of sympathy for him in his gut, especially when Jacob eventually dragged his gaze back up to him and gave him a small, rueful smile.

 

“It’s why I was sort of surprised hearing you say they attach themselves to like… objects. Houses and things. I mean _that_ seems to be true as well sometimes, sure, in some cases. But you know there’s a lot more to it than that, right?”

 

Dean raised an incredulous eyebrow, realising he was about to receive a lecture on things he already knew far too much about at first hand thank you very much. Yet something in the glint in Jacob’s eye had Dean stranded between wondering if he was about to learn a thing or two given Jacob's clear fascination with the subject, or was just about to be explained _at_ by someone who’d clearly lost their mind to guilt-ridden grief.

 

“It’s… apparently ghosts are just… like us, I guess… I mean we’re all just energy. Right? All from the same… source I guess, just… sparks of existence going about our business. So they, the… the _spirits_ of people when they- when they die. Well some of them don’t, uh, _leave_ , and they latch on to… not to people as such but their… more like their energy. It’s… sort of like their power source. Right? If they’ve got a link to a person, or- or to an emotion, it lets them grow stronger. It… it’s like a charge. Say someone’s upset, or raging angry. It builds up, gives them the power to… to do stuff. And it… some people are apparently more susceptible than others to spirit being around,”

 

Jacob’s eyes narrowed in on Cas then, with Dean tightening his grip a fraction more. “And they can… they can be drained by the spirit’s presence,”

 

A sick feeling settled in on Dean as Jacob clearly clued on to what might be happening to Cas, but he continued to keep quiet, leaving Jacob free to talk.

 

“And the stronger the emotion the better. Fury. Happiness I guess wouldn’t make any sense, but hey, I don’t know everything. Heartache…”

 

Jacob’s last word hung in the air accusingly and Dean cursed at himself for even allowing Jacob’s words to have any kind of impact on him.

 

“You two have been fighting a lot, huh?” Jacob continued, sliding his focus back to Dean. “You don’t think it’s _possible_ for a spirit to latch on to that joint angry energy you’re giving off when you’re kicking and screaming-”

 

“We don’t-”

 

“You’re _breaking_ him. You can see that, right? Whatever your issue is, you can see what it’s doing to him,”

 

The bitter accusation in Jacob’s voice then had Dean want to jump up across the table and strike out at him, but as he was beginning to realise he didn’t actually have the power to even move. Even the smallest attempt to stretch his limbs was met with resistance, and it was all Dean could do to even turn his head a fraction to check in on Cas.

 

“Here’s my guess,” Jacob pressed on, “And I’m… I’m _no_ expert. But something tells me I know a bit more than you do about this. What do you do anyway; go around acting like some kinda ghost slayer or something, huh? You know that sort of makes you sound even crazier than people might think _I_ am if they knew about me, right?”

 

The mocking tone had Dean grinding his teeth but he couldn’t find any retort that wouldn’t just be a kneejerk bark of anger.

 

“I reckon… for whatever reason- guilt, maybe, who knows. That Pops… that he took that record player with him when he went off after Mom died. That… that for whatever reason Andrew grew… was sort of _attached_ to that ring I'd hid inside it. And something happened- who knows, maybe just anger at my dad- at _me_ , maybe just… being at that place. Andrew loved… we once snuck away for the weekend down on this beach up the coast from where we lived. It was… it was sort of the most perfect two days of my life, actually,”

 

Jacob’s eyes and words slid away again leaving Dean feeling completely stranded.

 

“And I think,” Jacob continued after a slight shake of his head to himself. “I think your arguing… I think Andrew’s latched on to that. Am I right?”

 

Indignance and refusal to accept Jacob’s logic hit Dean then, fuelled by the hopeful yet fearful look in Jacob’s eyes, the way he kept looking around the room as though he expected Andrew to pop into existence right before him.

 

“It’s… it’s not _like_ that,” Dean began, although the way Cas had grown steadily weaker ever since they'd first arrived at the beach house, and the way things just seemed to go _off_ around them then stop as suddenly as they’d started…

 

Dean shook his head in his own attempt at clearing it. “It’s not like that,” he repeated, swallowing hard at the way the air seemed to be closing in around them all over again.

 

“You’re right; we do kinda hunt ghosts. It’s kinda… it’s just something we do-”

 

“Why?”

 

“Just ‘cos, okay? ‘Cos someone’s gotta-”

 

“Even when they’re not hurting anyone?” Jacob countered, defensive and full of accusation all over again.

 

“That’s- that’s sorta the thing here,”

 

A lightbulb popped overhead and cut off Dean’s words, and that closed in feeling in the air seemed to vibrate in anticipation.

 

“It’s… we, my brother and me, and… and-”

 

“You can say the word _boyfriend_ , you know,” Jacob seethed, “nothing shameful about it,”

 

“Didn’t say I was ashamed. I’m _not_ ashamed,” Dean amended, unconsciously squeezing Cas a little tighter.

 

“Carry on,”

 

Not liking the demand in Jacob’s voice but not feeling like he had much choice, Dean did just that. “We… we found out about some… incidents down at this beach house down in Sandbridge. Went down to try and figure things out,”

 

The bookcase nearest to Dean shoved backwards of its own accord, rocking for a second before falling with a loud smacking thud against the floor, books jumping up in the shelves from the force of landing. Jacob’s eyes grew wide in fear, and more lightbulbs popped until the living room was bathed only in a faint light coming in from the hallway. Dean shifted his elbow against his side to reassure himself the salt-loaded gun was still there wedged in his jeans.

 

“Truth is,” Dean pressed on, trying to keep the shake from his voice, “We counted seven, uh, seven _incidents_ -”

 

A crackle ripped through the air then, like a whip that forced the three of them back harder in their seats, left them sitting rigidly upright and restrained.

 

“Seven couples,” Dean blasted out, his heart hammering and a cold feeling creeping up his chest as something pressed him firmly down. “Seven couples since- since 1995, since your dad was there-”

 

The sound of more glass breaking, more whirls of thudding around the room and in the distance about the house.

 

“And we figured… we figured the ghost-”

 

A tight icy grip leaked in around Dean’s neck and squeezed, leaving him coughing and his eyes pricking with tears until it loosened up again.

 

“We thought maybe it was your dad- ‘cos of the player, and-”

 

Cas whimpered in agony beside him and Dean could only just about turn his head an inch to look at him. He couldn’t see any wounds, any source of pain, but Cas’ expression was one of being in excruciating pain.

 

“Please,” Dean begged, shaking his head back and forth over and over again, “please,”

 

“My dad was a bastard,” Jacob said, his voice shaking as he watched them, appearing both helpless and powerful since nothing at all seemed to be happening to him, “...and he hurt me. Hurt Mom sometimes. And maybe he-”

 

“Please,” Dean croaked out again, feeling the grip tighten around his neck once more.

 

“But I don’t really think he’d _kill_ anyone,” Jacob said, slowly shaking his head back and forth. “And… and the thing about the letters…”

 

The tightness around Dean’s neck dropped enough for Dean to look over at Jacob, his breath blocky and uneven as he tried to gain control over it again.

 

Jacob was sat looking down at his lap, toying with the bottle he rolled between his palms.

 

“Back when… back when Pops still… when we still got on, he told… he told me. He used to… that he and Mom used to exchange letters. That they’d… they’d keep them hidden from their parents because they thought they were too young to be… to be feeling like they were feeling. And… and he used to hide his in his vinyl sleeves…”

 

Jacob looked up then, full of caution yet demanding of answers Dean wasn’t able to provide.

 

“How’d- how’d my letters to Andrew end up in them sleeves?”

 

“I don’t know,” Dean shook his head, moving the only fraction that he could.

 

“Only Pops… only Pops ever found them, you know? I... I wrote from the day I got there. I started writing the minute I was alone, I guess hoping I could maybe... could maybe sneak the letters out somehow, get them to Andrew so he'd know. But Pops... in those few weeks we were on the same base - he made me watch as he burned a bunch of them in the sink, then shoved my face in there till I was smudged in soot and coughing. Said it was what I was doing to him, rubbing his face in it with my, uh, _ways_. How’d- how’d he get ‘em? Why’d he keep ‘em when he- he burned all the others all the time?”

 

“I don't know-”

 

“I never stopped writing to Andrew, you know. Even after... even after he died. And every few months Pops would come visit me and he'd just _know_ where I hid them. He'd do the same thing all over again, rip them up, burn them in the sink-”

 

“Maybe he felt guilty,” Dean suggested, honestly trying to give Jacob his attention but his eyes firmly on Cas slumped beside him and barely seeming to breathe. “Maybe- maybe your dad… maybe when they said you were dead they packed up your stuff and-”

 

“But why’d he keep any of them?” Jacob shook his head, still looking disbelieving, “why’d he keep any of it? And especially the very things that- that were _reminders_ of his _faggot_ of a son? Why’d- why’d he do that?”

 

Dean saw the lost look on Jacob’s face, the plead for answers, knew it well enough to recognise the desperation there behind his eyes. “Maybe… maybe he had a change of heart. Maybe he realised. Maybe him putting those letters in the sleeves-”

 

“Andrew hated him you know,”

 

Dean’s mind whipped at the change in subject, everything feeling sluggish and difficult. He attempted to lift his legs, to move them just to prove to himself that he could, but they wouldn't even budge an inch.

 

“He… Pops was kinda a dick for… for so long, but it- it seemed to come out of nowhere. He… he just came home from the base one day and went from this… this father I could look up to, be proud of… and just… hated me. I always… I always wanted to know why. I guess… I mean I can’t know now, I couldn’t ever know, but I guess… I guess one day he put two and two together about me and just… hated me for it,”

 

“And Andrew-”

 

“I told Andrew everything,” Jacob said, so full of sadness Dean found himself biting back another pointless _sorry_. “I told him… everything. Every fight, every demand to man up, to join the football team, to act like a man and build up some bulk for when I joined the Navy- and for that in particular I guess. He’d… never presumed I’d follow him into that until one day everything just switched. I… I have to think he figured me out… that he hated me for it. For being _gay_. Maybe... maybe I'm the reason he lashed out at Mom...”

 

Dean's eyes dropped closed at the mournful tone in Jacob's voice, forcing them open again seconds later, fighting with himself to stay lucid though it was becoming near on impossible.

 

“So if Andrew hated your dad so much. You don’t see how it’s possible he’d-”

 

A hard back of the hand slap hit Dean’s jaw then, with Cas quietly groaning out his name and his head flopping towards him. Dean tried to angle back towards Cas, to support his head at least where it fell, but Dean couldn’t so much as lift his face from the back of the couch as that earlier cold pressure started up around his neck all over again.

 

“Andrew was the sweetest, kindest, most gentle man I ever met. That I’ve ever known, even after all this time,” Jacob bit back, defensive and angry.

 

Dean felt the air fold and vibrate around him again, closed his eyes with the effort of keeping breathing, and heard Jacob shifting, as though coming closer to them.

 

“Andrew would _never_ hurt anyone, ever,” Jacob added, bitter and so furious Dean expected to crack his eyes open and see him towering down over them. When all that happened was that the air folded back, the pressure holding him and Cas down suddenly lifted, and that hold around his neck disappeared.

 

“He’s here, isn’t he? Andrew; he’s here, right now, right now, isn’t he?”

 

Dean stretched, rolling his wrists and checking for any pains, resting a hand on Cas’ back as he did the same.

 

“Andrew’s here,” Jacob repeated, desperate for their attention.

 

“Could be,” Dean offered, though feeling so heavy, so lethargic, every tiny scrap of effort seemed to take so much planning that it left him even more exhausted. “But if he is… and you acknowledge what- what he’s capable of. You can sorta see why we-”

 

“But he’d _never_ ,” Jacob cried all over again, tears leaking down his face as he shook his head, refusing to hear Dean's words. “He never-”

 

With such effort it was near painful Dean wrenched up his hand, managed to snag his fingers around the collar of his shirt and yanked it down, watching Jacob's eyes narrow in on the marks on his neck and grow wide with alarm, then shake in refusal of believing what he was seeing.

 

“You’ve done your research, Jacob,” Dean tried reasoning with him, pleading to his pride. “You… you know all about this… stuff,”

 

“I know a bit. And I know Andrew-”

 

“If this ghost, spirit, whatever, _is_ Andrew. He’s… he’s pretty strong, don’t you think?”

 

“Yeah, but-”

 

“Seem like he’s got much control over this to you?” Dean added, staring Jacob down until he had to turn away.

 

As Dean watched Jacob suddenly sat back up and heatedly glared back over at him. “You’re right. You’re _right_. ‘Cos if… if these people… you said six people died?”

 

“Seven couples,” Dean corrected with a precise shake of his head.

 

Jacob visibly blanched at the figure for a moment before shaking his own head in denial all over again. “If… if he’s… if he’s somehow involved… it’s not his fault. It’s not his _fault_ -”

 

“Jacob,” Dean said, voice low and in warning, “don’t really matter if it’s his fault or not. Not like we’re planning on dragging him off to jail or something. We just want- _need_ it to stop,”

 

“How’d you know it won’t just stop anyway, now, huh?” Jacob argued. “You’ve… you _brought_ him here. Maybe that’s… maybe that’s all he needed-”

 

“You saw what just happened,” Dean sighed, gesturing at himself and Cas, aware of the lengths people would go to in self-denial yet still hating to have to be witness to it, “You’ve… you’ve seen what he- _this_ , is capable of. Look like it’s gonna stop all on its own to you?”

 

“I don’t know what he _wants_ ,” Jacob wailed, slumping hard back against the couch and crying softly to himself.

 

“Jacob-”

 

“I’m so sorry, Andrew,” Jacob cried out then, desperately searching around the room once more. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, I’m so sorry, I wanted to tell you, I wanted to come to you, I wanted-”

 

“Jacob-”

 

“He’d never do the things you’re accusing him of,” Jacob snapped suddenly, glaring back at him, his constant changing of mood giving Dean whiplash.

 

“Hey-”

 

“If anyone’s got blood on their hands for this, I guess it’s me… it’s always been _me_ …”

 

Jacob broke again there on the couch, head held in his hands as he sobbed inconsolably to himself. Cas sliding his hand into Dean’s made him jolt, but Dean squeezed back his fingers immediately and held on tight as they watched Jacob in silence as he cried.

 

“Jacob. _Jacob_ ,” Dean called, giving him another few minutes. “Look. We can’t change anything that’s already happened, okay? We just… we need to stop it happening again,”

 

“It’s not his _fault_ -”

 

“Jacob-”

 

“No,” Jacob said, suddenly looking back up, a wild expression of understanding there on his face. “No. It’s _not_ his fault,”

 

“I-”

 

“Seven couples, right?” Jacob said, sitting forward eagerly and pinning Dean back with his stare.

 

“Yeah, seven,”

 

“So… so what if… what if those couples… what if. What if they were were like _you_? Arguing… fighting all the time… and… and all that energy… all that anger… what if Andrew latched on to that and... And he didn’t mean to but... but what if… what if they brought it on themselves… their anger… drew him in, and somehow… somehow…”

 

Dean stayed quiet and let Jacob work through his thoughts, though allowed himself to considered the possibility; if Jacob’s desperate theory was correct, that those couples arguing had drawn the ghost in, given it enough energy to strike… it wasn’t as though anything was really beyond the realms of possibility in all the things he’d seen. Then he wondered how he and Cas were any different really since they were doing nothing _but_ fight, and firmly dismissed the idea all over again.

 

“Maybe,” Dean shrugged, because it didn’t really matter either way. “Still don’t account for your dad though,”

 

“You said he died of a heart attack,” Jacob bit back, scowling and petulant.

 

“Sure,” Dean nodded, “That’s what the newspaper said. What his death certificate said. But what if… what if-”

 

“What if what?” Jacob demanded, curling his fists tight by his sides.

 

“What if,” Dean started again, trying to keep his tone placating though bracing for whatever reaction was coming his way. “What if… some weird combination of… of Andrew being… connected to that ring, of the record player being there, and the vinyl, the letters… and your dad… what if… what if that gave him the strength to-”

 

“Maybe he scared him to death,” Jacob whispered, eyes full of alarm as the idea seemed to settle on him. “He wouldn’tve… he wouldn’tve _meant_ to hurt him. But what if he… he _appeared_ and… and it scared Pops so much he had a heart attack?”

 

Dean lifted his hands in a helpless gesture, and the weight of them had him dropping them noisily to his lap again. “All I know is we got an angry spirit on our hands, one that’s clearly still got an attachment to something here, and its… its _energy_ , whatever, is draining the hell outta us,”

 

“If you two are arguing all the time,” Jacob shrugged, eyes glancing back over them again and searching, “maybe… maybe it’s _you_ ,”

 

“Hey-”

 

“Makes sense to me,” Jacob said, coldly cutting off Dean’s protest, “You went and messed with something you _clearly_ don’t understand in that house. And now you’ve lumbered yourself with… with-”

 

“If your ex’s got a grudge against people tryna work stuff out-”

 

“Oh, ‘working it out’, are you, huh?” Jacob laughed, cold and full of venom. “ _Look_ at you. Maybe if you weren’t such a _mess_ this… _Andrew_ wouldn’t have anything to latch on to,”

 

“I-”

 

“If you weren’t such an ass-”

 

“Hey-”

 

“If you weren’t hurting him the way you’re clearly hurting him,” Jacob seethed, looking at Cas in sympathy, “If you weren’t _giving_ Andrew a reason to stick around-”

 

“Jacob-”

 

“And he was never my _ex_ ,” Jacob added, seething, “I never left him. I _never_ did. I never wanted to. I tried. I _tried_ -”

 

Dean could do nothing but watch as Jacob crumpled into himself yet again, curling up in a ball. Dean gave it a minute, called out to him softly, feeling Cas squeeze his hand beside him.

 

“I believe he is asleep,”

 

“Asleep?” Dean huffed, doubting the possibility, “How’d he fall asleep with all of this going on?” And by _all this_ , Dean meant the now near continuous stream of noises, creaks and groans going on around them so much that it had faded into almost background noise.

 

“It is… draining. This room… I cannot stay a-…”

 

Dean turned his head with a snap watching as Cas’ eyes fluttered closed mid-word and he fell back against the couch, his steady breathing telling Dean he too was sleeping.

 

***

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now seems like a good time to remind you that there are NO MCDs in this fic at all, I promise!

Dean jolted awake with a gasp, alarmed to find he’d even fallen asleep. He looked over and saw Jacob still sleeping, turned to see Cas slowly blinking himself awake, found himself squeezing his hand, tugging to get his attention.

 

Looking utterly on the point of collapse Cas smacked his lips together painfully, swallowing with a difficulty that had Dean’s heart give a worried thud.

 

“Thirsty?”

 

“A little,”

 

“Stay there,” Dean whispered, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his forehead then forcing himself up on unsteady legs, taking a slow path to the kitchen. Opening the fridge door he found a bottle of water, closed it again to see a baby photo of who he assumed to be Jacob’s daughter Charlotte, found himself sliding it out from under the fridge magnet and taking that back into the living room with him.

 

Handing the bottle of water to Cas he watched as he greedily drank his fill, leaving Dean with a sense of guilt that Cas didn’t seem to be looking after himself properly at all of late. His eyes were sunk and his skin dull even without what was happening on this case; Dean had to wonder to himself how he hadn’t even noticed before now. Perhaps he was so wrapped up in hurting _himself_ he was, although unintentionally, neglecting any of Cas’ regular needs. The thought sat heavily with him, making him hover over and watch Cas for a few more seconds before he could bring himself to sit down beside him again.

 

Dean took several gulps from the bottle himself, leaning forward and pushing it on to the table then sitting back and staring at the photograph still in his hands, telling himself the story of the girl in the picture and the life she must have with Jacob. He wondered about how close they were, if they confided in one another. About the friendship Jacob still seemed to have with her mother Sarah.

 

At the realisation of Cas watching him Dean slowly dragged his eyes up, offering a small smile and holding his gaze.

 

“Been thinking,” Dean said, dropping his eyes back down to the picture and stroking his finger out gently over the smile looking back up at him, unconsciously mirroring it.

 

“About Lisa,”

 

Dean’s eyes snapped up again at the out of nowhere growled out statement, feeling his mouth fall open in surprise as he stammered out, “Uh... that’s… that's way too big a leap to make any kinda sense, Cas,”

 

Cas’ eyes drifted back the photo and his lips thinned out into a grim line. “It makes perfect sense-”

 

“I was _thinking_ ,” Dean insisted, squeezing a little force into his voice whilst fighting against the flash of questions currently bouncing around in his skull, “about if Jacob has a good relationship with his daughter or not, if maybe he tries a little harder because of the way his dad was with him,”

 

Cas’ scowl back at him had Dean flinching, unable to keep up with his constant change of mood. Clutching at straws, Dean searched for something to talk about that might not be incendiary.

 

“Actually, earlier I was thinking ‘bout what Sam said. ‘Bout how maybe you- maybe you run on a different frequency to us. Maybe that's why all this's effected you worse 'n me 'n Sam. ‘Cos of… you know. Angel, not-quite-all-human?” he mumbled the last few words a little softer with a quick glance over at Jacob to make sure he wasn't listening.

 

“I see,” Cas nodded, a touch colder still, “it is more likely that than there being even a small possibility of Jacob being correct,”

 

Dean went to open his mouth to retort but was distracted by the sudden feel of the air pressing in around them again. He paused for a second to get a feel for it, but when it stopped again he regained the ability to speak.

 

“ _Correct_? Correct about what?” Dean shook his head feeling utterly lost, not seeing what judging by Cas’ fuming anger should be so very obvious to him.

 

“That this _spirit_ is drawn to strong emotion. That it is drawn to my sorrow at losing you-”

 

“ _Your_ sorrow?” Dean barked out, unable to believe what Cas was insinuating; how could Cas even be _trying_ to compare how they were both feeling, when Dean was the one Cas was leaving behind? When so often Cas looked as though he couldn't care less about going. “ _Yours_? You wanna maybe take a step back here a second, Cas, and remind yourself that it’s _you_ leaving _me_?”

 

The anger surging through Cas then was clearly rolling up over his face, but he turned away leaving Dean’s eyes having little to focus on other than the way he clenched his jaw. At the same time he heard a soft scraping noise off just out of his line of sight; though Dean was too distracted by Cas’ words to really give it the attention it probably deserved.

 

“ _Your_ sorrow?” Dean echoed again, demanding a response.

 

“Tell me, Dean, now that I have given you a deadline for my departure are you planning on going directly to Lisa’s following the resolution of this case, or are you returning temporarily to the bunker first?”

 

A snap of coldness hit the room, sweeping up over them and leaving Dean shivering, watching as Cas did the same and shrunk down back against the couch, a tiny dejected thing.

 

“I-” Dean stuttered, on alert at the shifting of the air around them, and dumb at the quiet bitterness in Cas’ voice as he spoke, “ _what_?”

 

“The moment I am gone,” Cas repeated, turning his head deadly slow to glare at him all over again. “Will you give me a moment’s consideration before you are making your way back to  _her_? She is the reason you were in such a hurry to leave Sandbridge, is she not?”

 

Dean’s mouth fell open again, utterly bewildered. “Where the hell does Lisa fit into any of this-”

 

“Do not _pretend_ , Dean-”

 

“Cas,” Dean said, shaking his head and dimly asking himself if there was a chance he’d mumbled Lisa’s name in a dream recently or something; he’d not thought of her at all in so long though he didn’t see how it was even possible. Why would he think about anyone else when he had the best thing that had ever happened to him right there with him?

 

“Cas…” Dean tried again, huffing to himself as he attempted to find the right words, “I’ve got… _no_ idea what’s going in that head of yours. Literally none. Even why you’re bringing this up - _now_ , 'specially. We were talking ‘bout-”

 

“We were talking about you failing to acknowledge how much _I_ am hurting in this. How much _I_ am broken thinking about losing _you_. How _I_ -”

 

“Losing me? Losing _me?_ Cas... I'm not going _anywhere._ It's _you_ that's leaving, not _me._ That’s gotta be… that’s gotta be the most…” Dean’s voice escaped him, a hollowness creeping through cold at how Cas had so rapidly turned the tables on him, how _selfish_ it was. That cold feeling trickled over him again as though echoing that surge of pain, ghosting up around his throat; Dean found himself shoved roughly back against the couch once again and held in place there, although the reality of that rattled hard against him trying to understand Cas, his priorities focused on the only thing he really cared about.

 

“Cas. You’re leaving me,” he tried again, trying to keep his voice rational despite how much he was feeling like Cas' words had kicked him in the gut. “You’ve told me a hundred times over you’re leaving _me_. I’ve asked you to stay. I’ve _begged_ you. I’ve… you ever see me begging to anyone else for anything, Cas? You close your ears every time I tell you I love you, that- that I _need_ you. Every single time. You dismiss it, keep telling me it’s somehow for my own good. And yet you wanna sit here all indignant telling me how much _you’re_ hurting?”

 

Practically panting at the strain of his own outburst when he was having difficulty even breathing, Dean glared back at Cas demanding an answer.

 

“This is what you _do_ , Dean,” Cas sighed in resignation, closing his eyes, and Dean’s heart thudding at the crushed look seeping in over his face.

 

“What is?”

 

“This. _You_. Hearing only what you wish to hear. You did this in Purgatory, you have done it multiple times since-”

 

“I-”

 

“You keep telling me you do not wish me to leave. You keep telling me not to go. Yet you… forget… you continue to leave the parts out of this conversation where you have _told_ me that you did not see any future with me. That you are merely biding your time with me until you grow bored and-”

 

“What the hell? I _never-_ ”

 

“Who is this?”

 

Cas plucked the photograph from Dean’s shaking fingers and stared down at it blankly, resting it against his lap.

 

“It’s… I think it’s Charlotte. Jacob’s daughter,” Dean stuttered out, his mind whirling from the rapid subject change all over again.

 

“You wanted Ben to be yours-”

 

“ _What_?-”

 

“You suggested-”

 

“I-” Dean stuttered, feeling so utterly lost. “I told you I’dve been proud to be Ben’s dad. He’s a good kid; even if he doesn’t know who I am anymore-”

 

“I am sure you will get to know each other all over again when you reconcile with Lisa-”

 

“Where the hell does Lisa come into this?”

 

Cas rolled his eyes then, looking back down at the photo once again.

 

“Should I come with you to help restore her memories of you, Dean? Make myself _useful_ to you one last time? Or do you think it will be enough to start over again with her? Do you think you will have one more child? Two? I wonder if-”

 

“Cas,” Dean pleaded, and in a burst of energy shifting and ripping the photo from his fingers, tossing it on the table, turning into him as much as he could to get his full attention. “You gotta- you gotta fill me in, here,”

 

“What is there to ‘fill in’?”

 

“Cas-”

 

“I gave up everything for you, Dean. Everything,” Cas said then, quiet enough for Dean to have to lean in, although the look of pain on his face had Dean wondering if he should just be leaning back to give him space. He couldn’t though; that frozen in place feeling had him in a grip all over again, and Dean was helpless but to just sit there and listen.

 

“I gave up… everything. I have been offered multiple chances to have my angel strength restored, I have been invited back to heaven on numerous occasions-”

 

“You hate those bastards as much as I do,” Dean countered, though wondering why this was the first time he’d really heard about Cas even being contacted by other angels to go back. Perhaps they’d spoken about it in passing, sure, but, Dean asked himself, when did any of that even happen?

 

“I turned them down, each and every time. Because of you. _For_ you. Because I love you, and I thought that… that perhaps you loved me back equally. That we would have a future together, here on Earth-”

 

“We _did_ ,” Dean insisted, gripping him tighter, “we _do_ ,”

 

“How can you _lie_ like that, Dean?” Cas’ jaw trembled then, fighting to keep it together.

 

“Cas, man… you gotta help me out here. I got no clue what you’re-”

 

“Of course,” Cas agreed thickly, snatching his gaze away. “Selective memory, Dean. As you have always had with me,”

 

“What’s Lisa got to do with anything, anyway?” Dean asked, trying desperately to put the puzzle pieces together to understand what Cas was telling him.

 

“You love her,”

 

“Uh… I love _you_. I mean sure, I cared about her once, but it was never… we were never-”

 

“You planned on living your life with her once-”

 

“I didn’t know I had any other options,” Dean protested, struggling against his invisible restraint, “And I still don’t get what this has to do with-”

 

“ _This_ is you ‘working things out’?”

 

Dean and Cas turned their heads at the same time to see Jacob eyeing them with blatant disbelief.

 

“You’re awake,” Dean muttered, flinching at the snort Jacob gave that sounded far too loud in the way it echoed about the room.

 

“Yeah, I’d noticed that for myself,”

 

“How-”

 

“Who’s _Lisa_?” Jacob asked, eyes narrowing at Dean. Dean’s own widened in surprise at the accusatory tone of the question, feeling ganged up on and so very lost.

 

“She’s-”

 

“She is the woman Dean wishes to have a family with. To have a future with,”

 

Cas’ calculated tone was underwritten by a ripple of pain across his face so vicious Dean felt himself reeling back from it, as well as the impact of his actual words.

 

“Cas… I don’t know where the hell you got that idea from-”

 

“From _you_ -”

 

“But this is a private conversation between us-”

 

“Hey, don’t mind me,” Jacob called, fake cheerfulness as he waved an arm nonchalantly. “Just had my heart and soul bared here to complete strangers. As you were. And I got names now. _Dean_? _Cas_? As in _Casper_? That’d be pretty funny considering we’re talking about a ghost, huh?”

 

“You think this is _funny_?” Dean seethed as he tried to turn more fully to look at him.

 

“I think this is _hilarious_ ,” Jacob amended, lifting his leg to cross over his lap and leaning back against the couch with his arms stretched wide. “Seriously. This is like Most Haunted Days Of Our Lives; my day started out so _dull_ ,”

 

“Jacob. People are _dying_ -”

 

“And yet you’re sat here bitching at each other all indignant, when clearly _you’ve_ been dicking him about and are too chicken to admit you want someone else,” Jacob laughed, shaking his head incredulously.

 

“That’s… that’s not even anywhere close to being true-”

 

“Really?” Jacob asked, leaning forward suddenly and propping himself up with his elbows on his knees, a steely gaze settling on Cas that made Dean swallow with growing discomfort to see. “Really? Look at his face,”

 

Jacob nodded in Cas’ direction and Dean had to follow his gaze, to be met with Cas looking so broken, so withdrawn into himself, that it was painful to even get a tiny glimpse of it.

 

“Cas,” Dean tried softly, his anger plummeting away again like a stone.

 

“You wanna tell me- tell _him_ it isn’t true?” Jacob demanded, glaring Dean down.

 

“It isn’t,” Dean found himself telling Jacob, then turning back to Cas and insisting, “It _isn’t_ ,”

 

“Looks to me like someone doesn’t believe you,” Jacob laughed, shaking his head all over again, a slight sing song of mocking to his voice.

 

“Cas-” Dean started, cut off by another sarcastic blast of laughter from across the room.

 

“Not _Cas_ ,” Jacob amended. Dean shifted the fraction he could to see Jacob turning his head slowly and his eyes growing wider by the second as Cas began to wheeze beside him, and Dean felt that clasp around his neck all over again.

 

“ _Andrew_ ,” Jacob said in wonder, “I’d say _Andrew_ doesn’t believe you,”

 

A sudden hard squeeze and a blow to the side of his head, and Dean was out cold.

 

***

 

“ _You are watching me,” Cas mumbled without moving; Dean beamed at him anyway and hummed to himself._

 

“ _Why wouldn’t I?”_

 

“ _You used to complain when I watched over you,” Cas pointed out with a tone bordering on grumpy that had Dean’s smile splitting._

 

“ _Yeah, well. I was dumb,”_

 

_A second of smile flitted over Cas’ lips and he shifted with an expression on his face Dean decided was smug._

 

“ _Perhaps I would word that differently,”_

 

“ _Word it however you want if you’re gonna keep doing_ that _to me,”_

 

_This time Cas’ lips twitched up in a full blown grin that Dean was helpless against leaning in and kissing, feeling that deep aching stretch from just having had Cas inside of him._

 

“ _I will if you continue to feel that good,”_

 

“ _Oh,” Dean laughed, rolling towards him a little closer and pressing a kiss against his shoulder, “So when I can’t keep up you’re gonna, what. Find yourself another hunter to play with or something?”_

 

“ _You are the only hunter I wish to ‘play with’, Dean,”_

 

 _Dean bit back the laugh at feeling Cas’ fingers twitch down by his leg in his air quotes._ “ _Well lucky for me - and you, I guess, that I got a good few years in me yet, huh?”_

 

“ _It is most fortunate, yes,"_ _Cas cracked an eye open at him then, looking full of mirth as he shuffled to roll on his side, his hand wrapped around Dean’s hip._

 

 _Dean leaned in with a pleased hum, capturing his lips and leading him in a long, languid kiss._ “ _This is the best,” Dean muttered against him with a contented stretch, letting his eyes fall closed._

 

“ _What is?”_

 

“ _This,” Dean smiled, stroking his hand down over Cas’ side and snuggling into him. “Being with you like this. I… I like this,”_

 

_Cas smiled back at him and stretched equally contented, humming to himself. “Then I also like ‘this’,”_

 

“ _You ever miss heaven, Cas?” Dean muttered eventually, half asleep and hazy as he allowed himself to doze in the warmth of having Cas so close._

 

_Cas’ raised eyebrow showed his surprise at Dean’s change of subject. Though it didn’t feel quite so sudden to Dean; it was a question never far from his lips on the days where he doubted himself, like this one when he’d woken up doubting, where he still couldn’t believe his luck that he had Cas here with him._

 

“ _On occasion,”_

 

“ _What do you miss?”_

 

“ _It is difficult to explain. It is… a very different kind of existence. There is certainty, structure. Not the chaos that is humanity,”_

 

“ _We’re the good kinda chaos though, right, Cas?”_

 

 _A soft smile and Cas was leaning in, kissing him all over again._ “ _Yes,”_

 

“ _Ever wish you could go back and visit sometimes?”_

 

“ _It is always possible for me to go back, Dean,”_

 

_Dean’s surprise must have been written all over his face; Cas glanced over him and rolled his eyes, offering up another smile._

 

“ _Dean. We are a collective conscious. But more than that; we are never, unless we choose to be, completely cut off from heaven. It is… it is no different than returning to a family here on earth and being accepted back in,”_

 

“ _So what. You just… say you’re sorry and you can go back? Just like that?”_

 

“ _More or less,”_

 

_Dean let a huff escape his lips, an unsettled feeling beginning to stir in his gut._

 

_Silence hung in the air between them, Dean fighting back the onslaught of sneering voices in his head reminding him he wasn’t good enough, he wasn’t anywhere near good enough for Cas._

 

“ _I’d miss you if you went,” Dean said, careful as anything. He felt Cas shift beside him and dared himself to look, to see the surprise there on his face._

 

“ _I would hope that you would do more than miss me, Dean. I would miss-”_

 

“ _It’s dumb, but,” Dean interrupted with a hard swallow before he could carry on. “Back at Lisa’s… when I couldn’t sleep, which was pretty much always. I’d go out into the garden, stand there right in the middle of the lawn and just… look up. See the stars, wonder what you were doing, where you were. I kinda got to thinking… and this’ll sound really dumb but… there was this one star, a little brighter than the others and I’d- I’d probably still be able to pick it out for you even now. And I… I let myself think it was you. And I’d… I guess aim my thoughts and… you know. Wants and fears and all that. Right at that star. You,”_

 

_When Cas didn’t react in any way Dean dared himself to look again; the expression on Cas’ face this time was one of confusion, which, Dean told himself was probably just the look he’d have on his face if Cas had said the same thing back at him._

 

“ _Anyway,” Dean carried on, cursing himself and rolling in for another kiss that Cas returned a second later. “That’s… that’s kinda how I got myself over missing you so much. Thinking you were still up there watching over me like that,”_

 

“ _I assure you that were I only able to observe you from afar it would do little to satisfy my missing_ you _, Dean,”_

 

“ _No I know,” Dean agreed quickly, pecking a kiss on him again, “But it was… it was kinda comforting to know… to let myself think you’d be there like that. Sounds kinda weird, I know, but…”_

 

_Cas mumbled incoherently and panic set in Dean, flailing to try to find the words to recapture the soft, sated mood they’d had barely a few minutes earlier._

 

“ _It was just… it was my way of keeping you around, you know? Thinking- thinking if I couldn’t have you here then… that then when I got old, you’ still be there, somehow. Like I could sit out on my back porch, with maybe a kid sat on my knee and I’d… I’d point up at that star and I’d… I’d tell them. ‘That right there? That’s my Cas,’”_

 

_The look on Cas’ face told Dean his words had not helped in the slightest; a coldness settled in around his eyes that had Dean’s heart shuddering to see._

 

“ _Do you wanna? Go back I mean?”_

 

_Dean raised his hand enough to press his fingers lightly against Cas’ sternum, feeling the steadiness of his chest rising and falling. Told himself not to panic._

 

 _"_ Cas?”

 

“ _We will both go to heaven one day, Dean,”_

 

“ _I’m not talking about one day. I’m talking- I’m talking about now. Before then,”_

 

“ _When it is time, I will go,” Cas told him, his voice careful and measured as though he was weighing every word._

 

_That unsettled feeling stirred cold in Dean then, trickling through him and wrapping around his heart, squeezing it in a tight thud._

 

“ _And when’s that?”_

 

“ _Nothing is, apparently, for certain, Dean,”_

 

_Dean swore he could hear hurt in Cas’ voice, but when he forced himself to stare back at him he saw nothing there but calm blankness._

 

“ _You were happy with Lisa,” Cas said suddenly after they’d laid there in stifled silence for what had to be five or ten minutes._

 

“ _Uh…” Dean tried, confused about the change of subject and giving a light shake of his head. “I mean sure. Of course; we had a lot of fun together, but-”_

 

“ _I wonder if in your old age you will share the story of me. I assume some elements,” Cas added, looking down at where their limbs tangled together and the rise of his chest bumping against Dean’s, “will be carefully omitted,”_

 

“ _Cas-”_

 

“ _I was of course never intended to walk on the Earth indefinitely. In answer to your question about whether I wished to return to heaven,”_

 

“ _Cas-”_

 

“ _I will return to heaven when… when it is the right thing to do,”_

 

_Dean rolled himself forward over Cas instantly, kissing him insistently and knowing the way his heart was pounding Cas could probably feel it against his own chest._

 

_When Cas’ hands lifted so very slowly to wrap around him Dean’s heart pound even faster, and the fact that Cas kissed back so reluctantly made Dean double his efforts to be even more thorough._

 

“ _Yeah, well it’s not the right thing to do yet, okay?” Dean pleaded, kissing back even harder. “Not yet… I don’t wanna lose you, not yet,”_

 

_Cas didn’t answer, and a fear gripped Dean tightly that a part of Cas had already gone, right then before his eyes._

 

“ _Don’t leave me, Cas,” Dean heard the plead in his voice but couldn’t regret it, staring Cas down until his eyes dropped away, troubled._

 

“ _I-”_

 

“ _Don’t._ Don’t _,”_

 

_A mask of something unreadable settled on Cas’ face then, as he leaned up and kissed Dean softly then slid his hands down his sides, pressing so Dean would know to let him up._

 

“ _Cas-”_

 

Dean came to with a gasp, the memory fresh in his mind and weighing heavy in his chest, his heart leaping in protest. A second later and he was properly back in the room, skin tingling on end as he realised the sounds that must have woke him were Cas gurgling through laboured breathing beside him, pressed all but lifelessly back at an awkward angle against the sofa, the last of his colour draining away from him.

 

“No,” Dean cried out, desperate to reach for him but feeling himself restrained. “No, no, don’t _do_ this, don’t, don’t-”

 

“Dean-” Cas gasped out, trying to fix his eyes on him and failing.

 

“Cas, don’t, don’t you dare, you gotta fight this, you gotta, it’s not, you can do this, I-”

 

Another hard strike against the side of his face and Dean was yet again out cold.

 

***

 


	14. Chapter 14

“Cas!”

 

Dean screamed the second he was awake again as though he had been nothing but put on pause and muted. Fighting for the small freedom to even turn his head he took in Cas’ lifeless form there beside him and wailed.

 

“No,” he cried, over and over, screaming and hammering at the invisible thing that was still pinning him down.

 

“ _Cas_ ,”

 

And then he was free; Dean rolled and knelt over to straddle Cas, his hands running up and down his chest as he bent down to press kisses to his unmoving lips, to his neck, sitting up abruptly to try and find a pulse but shaking so hard he could barely press his fingers into his wrist.

 

“Cas,” he cried again, wrapping himself around him and holding on so tightly, shaking his head repeatedly against his shoulder wicking tears into his jacket.

 

“Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, please, Cas, don’t leave me, I need you, I always needed you, I can’t, I _can’t_ …” Dean's rambling words fell over each other and tucked into Cas’ neck where he mumbled them, repeated kisses to bare skin and clothed shoulder as Dean cried and shook his head, refusing to let go.

 

“Cas-”

 

“... _Dean_ …”

 

A barely there rasp breezed against his ear and Dean was sitting up fast again, eyes wide and pleading as he watched and waited for Cas to open his. At the slightest slither of blue Dean was sobbing, wrapping himself hard around him all over again and sobbing even harder when shaky hands raised to press lightly and limply against his sides.

 

A twist and wrench and Dean was flung back against the couch, an ache in his shoulder that felt as though a firm hand had gripped and thrown him there. His fingers stretched out along the cushions and hooked through Cas’, Dean unable and unwilling to look at anything other than Cas’ face and his chest rising and falling, reassuring Dean he was still there with him.

 

Another grip and Dean was gasping, unable to clutch at his throat though instinct drove him to, watching as Cas’ eyes dropped closed and tears squeezed out of them as he continued to lay there unable to move.

 

“Andrew…”

 

Dean felt a harder squeeze around his neck as he heard Jacob; first that single spoken word, and second him shuffling and getting to his feet.

 

“Andrew,” Jacob called again, soft and gentle, so in contrast with the brutality in the room as books rattled on their shelves, the table knocked and jerked, and the air felt as though it was solidifying.

 

“Hey… it’s me… it’s _me_ , Andrew… it’s… it’s Jacob,”

 

The grip continued around Dean’s throat but didn’t tighten any further; Dean did his best to try to back away from it, pressing his neck back against the couch in the hope it might give him a breath more air.

 

“Come on, Andrew, this… don’t do this… you know you’re better than this… you’re… you’re the best thing in my whole world. Always were. Always will be. You know that, don’t you, Andrew?”

 

The grip faded from Dean’s neck and he choked out thankfully, though he was still pinned in place beside Cas and unable to do a thing.

 

“Hey,” Jacob smiled, closing his eyes, reaching out his fingers to both sides, “Would you look at that… I think I can _feel_ you,”

 

A blast of chilled air seemed to swirl around them; Dean grasped Cas’ fingers a little tighter and continued to stare up at Jacob where he stood.

 

“Oh, I have missed you,” Jacob said, wonder in his voice, his face transforming before Dean into something soft, and whole, an echo of the person he might have once been. “I’ve missed you so much. So much… you know that, don’t you?"

 

“I’ve got… I’ve got _so_ much to tell you. So much. I wish I could… I could _see_ you to tell you it all, but it’s okay,” Jacob said, smiling wider to himself and pressing a finger against his temple, “I _can_ see you. In _here_ ; I always see you in here,”

 

And Dean listened, unable to do anything else as more than twenty years of life were unfolded before him. Regrets, hopes, fears, losses and successes, embarrassed confessions of _other people_ that Jacob stuttered over and apologised for, tears leaking down his face the entire time.

 

“None of them… none of them were _you_ , Andrew. Not one of them. I'm so sorry, Andrew, I'm so so sorry, I never forgot you, they never were you, not even for a second. No one can replace you, you know that, don't you?

 

“Do you remember how we never shortened our names together? How to other people we were _Andy_ and _Jake_ , but to you and me we were always _Andrew_ and _Jacob_ ? Like we were savouring each other, keeping us whole? I… after you left... after _I_ left I carved our names into so many trees like that. In a heart, always in a heart. Because you have always been in mine… you know that, don’t you?

 

“I wish you could have met Charlotte. She’s one of the only good things I’ve done with my life since you had to leave me, and I had to leave you. I think she’d like you. I think she’d approve of us, you know? She’s a bright girl. Caring, a lot like her mother; I know for sure Sarah would adore you. I think she knew about me right from the start, and she’s… she’s been a true friend to me over the years.

 

“I never told anyone about you, Andrew, though, and do you know why? Because you are too perfect. Too precious to me to ever share with anyone else. I didn’t want to tell your story and have time taint it, let it take any more of you from me than it already has. I _love_ you, Andrew. Always did. Always have done. You know I always will, too. You know that, don’t you? How could I ever love anyone else like I do you, the one person in my world that _was_ my world. The one person that let me be _me_?

 

"I wanted to grow  _old_ with you, Andrew. To still hold your hand, out there on some rickety porch of a retirement home overlooking the sea where we'd still sit there and listen to our turntable.  _Our_ turntable: everything I ever had was yours, and all of this? All I do? Well that's all yours too. Every last bit of it. I couldn't have done it without you, so it's all  _for_ you,  _because_ of you. You know that, don't you Andrew?

 

“I know you’re hurting; I know you are. It must be… I can’t even pretend I know how much this life has hurt you, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I hope you can forgive me for my part in it? I think… I think maybe it’s time for you to move on now, Andrew. Because here; here there’s nothing, nothing worth sticking around for. I could be selfish, so selfish and ask you to stay for me. But I love you, so, so very much that I… I want you to find what happiness… whatever peace you can.

 

“I’ll always be with you. I know you probably think that’s funny, huh? Like you should be the one saying that to me. It’s true either way; I gave you me all those years ago, and I don’t… I wouldn’t ever do it over different. Never would; you made me the best version of me I could ever be, you know that, don’t you?

 

“So let me do this for you… let me… let me help. Andrew, will you let me help? I don’t know what I need to do here, I really don’t. But you need to know… you’re free now. There’s nothing here to hold you back. Go and… I don’t know… fly with those birds you were always obsessing over. Go and… breathe in the sea air like we did down by the docks that time, when you stood on the edge and told me you were my lighthouse and would always guide me home.

 

“Let me guide _you_ home now, Andrew. Let me… let go of here… it’s time to go now. I still love you, you’ll still take that with you; that’s not going anywhere. But I think you’ve got to go now. I know you do; and it hurts, it hurts so much but I can do this for you now. I can let you go, I can help you go…

 

“Go, Andrew. I love you, and it is time for you to go,”

 

***

 

At the same time the oppressive feel in the room lifted to leave them surrounded by a cautious sense of peace, Dean heard a slump to the couch opposite and dragged his eyes open, not even realising he’d closed them in the first place. Tears leaked silently down his own face as he watched Jacob curling into himself, crying softly and inconsolable. He considered moving, attempting to offer some kind of comfort, but there was no way he could move, and no way he would leave Cas’ side even for a second now.

 

As though Cas knew he was thinking of him he stirred a touch, squeezing Dean’s fingers to let him know he was there. Dean rolled himself over heavily with a groan at the effort of moving, slid his fingertips along his jaw and cupped it there, kissing him as more tears leaked from him.

 

“We gotta talk, Cas,” Dean stuttered out, leaning in and kissing him again. “We gotta talk; soon as we’ve… as we’ve slept this off. But you listen to me now, okay? You listen good. I love you. I only love you. You are not leaving me. You’re not going anywhere. I won’t let you. You got that, Cas? Not gonna happen,”

 

Dean stared back at him, daring him to disagree, to argue as he had done every time the subject had been brought up over the past few weeks. Dean realised then with a huff to himself that they’d been doing this ridiculous dance for more than two months now. Because of a throwaway comment. Because of a misunderstanding. Because neither one of them was capable of apparently having an adult conversation.

 

Dean resisted the urge to kick himself there and then, mainly because he had no strength left in him. But determination fired through him, bracing him for any difficult conversations and solidifying his certainty that he would not let Cas slip through his fingers no matter what it took.

 

“You’re not leaving me,” Dean repeated, strong as he could, looking Cas square in the eye. Cas stared back unblinking for no more than a second before swallowing roughly and nodding. 

 

Dean continued staring back, holding his breath in hope that Cas might finally be hearing him. He watched as Cas' lip began to tremble and his entire face appeared to crumple before he choked out an uncharacteristic sob and brokenly answered with, “I _cannot_ leave you, Dean; this is the problem. I keep telling myself that I can. That I _must_ , but... I _can't_...”

 

Seeing Cas so upset with himself had tears leaking from Dean all over again, propelling him forward to wrap himself around Cas and claim a kiss that despite so many between them seemed so overdue. And to Dean's relief, joy, his _gratitude_ , this time when Cas kissed him there was not even a trace of him holding back.

 

Dean kept hold of Cas, kept kissing him, kept checking to still feel and acknowledge the feel of Cas' own hands wearily pressed into his sides. It wasn't until he heard a soft clearing of a throat looming next to them that he jolted, pulling back from Cas but still holding on to him.

 

Jacob stood waiting until he had their attention, then leaned over the fallen bookcase and pulled out a book. He flicked through, ran his fingers over a page before swallowing thickly and nodding. “You might... you might be his doppelgänger. Of what he might've ended up looking like, anyway,”

 

Dean raised his eyebrows at the subdued tone of Jacob's voice and looked at the book held open in his hands, realising on a second glance it was a photo album. After what seemed like a moment of hesitance Jacob nodded to himself once more, slid a photo out and held it up to take a closer look for himself. His eyes were alternating between the dullness of being numb and the brightness of being broken, then Jacob sighed to himself and held the photo out for them to see – though very clearly not willing to let go of it, not even for a second.

 

Staring up from the photo were two smiling faces, one of which was obviously Jacob when he was in his late teens. But to his side, and what really made Dean startle was the face of a guy who was the image of what Dean presumed Cas – _Jimmy_ must have looked like at that kind of age. Coldness trickled through Dean, even finding himself doing the quick math on ages to make sure it wasn't the same person then chiding himself for his stupidity. He felt Cas grow even more still beside him as they continued to look, waiting for Jacob to find the strength to continue.

 

“Took us about six shots to get this one good picture,” Jacob said more to himself than them as he took the photo to place gently back in the album. “We weren't exactly _generation selfie_ back then, huh? And Andrew's hair just... it was this unruly _mess_. Couldn't get it flat whatever he tried doing to it... I _loved_ it like that though. This was... this was us at our happiest. When we'd snuck away, just by ourselves, just for a couple of days. I must've... I didn't _intend_ to take this with me when I left – I didn't even know it was in the bag Pops made me pack that night. But I'm glad I did... I'm so glad I did... it's all I've got _left_...”

 

Dean felt a rush of sympathy watching Jacob silently begin to cry again, the way he walked dejectedly back to the couch opposite and threw himself back down. His fingers were clearly tracing over the photo in reverence even from the distance Dean was sat from him. Soft fingers tapped against the edge of the album as Jacob looked back up to stare at Cas again.

 

“You look just _like_ him. You... he must have... he must have felt some kind of connection to you because of that... because of... because of how _sad_ you were...” Jacob's eyes flitted to Dean as he said that then back to Cas, filled with tears already beginning to brim over and fall as he turned back to the photo on his lap once more.

 

“He must have been so _unhappy_ ,” he said, thick with the tears overwhelming him. “He must have... he must have felt so _alone_ all this time... felt so _unloved_... when I loved him... I loved him so very much... I just... I never got the chance to _tell_ him that... If I could've... if I could've just let him _know..._ ”

 

The final twist of his words out of his mouth had Jacob unleashing a wall of tears, curling into himself once more and cradling the photo album to his chest. He rocked himself in silence, unaware of them, of the room, of anything but his own grief. Dean watched as Jacob cried himself out feeling useless, though knowing he was unable to do anything to help.

 

Seeming to read his mind Cas reached out to squeeze Dean's hand, silently asking that he look at him. Wordlessly offering a tired smile and small shake of his head, Cas' eyes dropped closed, exhausted. Dean watched him, the rise and fall of his chest, the bruises beneath his eyes, the general appearance of being drained, and vowed to do all he could to see Cas whole again. And happy. So very happy he wouldn't be able to stop beaming that beautiful smile of his at him that he missed seeing so very much.

 

“Do you guys think you can leave?”

 

Dean glanced over as Jacob spoke, his voice bland as though any emotion had been leached from it. A moment or two passed without Dean being able to find his words; Jacob rolled a little more upright and watched them silently with a clouded look on his face.

 

“Uh-” Dean stuttered out when he could, shaking his head at the thought of trying to drive right now.

 

“Not… not right this second. I can see you’re… you can’t rush or anything, but… I… I need to be alone. I need you to be gone,”

 

“I get that,” Dean nodded, slow because anything more strenuous was impossible. “I do, uh… let me just… let me just call my brother. He’ll… we’ll get him to pick us up. Okay?”

 

“Sure,”

 

Dean fought to get his cell out of his pocket and punched in Sam’s number, eyes on Jacob the entire time as he slumped back against the couch looking so hollow. Dean worried about leaving him alone, but something told him his concern would be brushed off at best, numbly rejected at worst.

 

A quick call and promise from Sam to get over as soon as he could, and Dean was dropping his head back against the couch at the effort. Cas’ hand remained firmly wrapped around his and Dean took comfort in that, anchoring himself to it.

 

He must have dozed off; the next thing Dean was aware of was Sam stooping over him and softly calling his name, looking worried and so huge looming over him that Dean had to reach up an unsteady hand to cover his eyes, to give himself time to focus.

 

“C’mon, let’s get you up,” Sam said, gripping a hand around Dean’s forearm.

 

“I… honestly don’t know if I can,” Dean tried to shift his feet and though they were moving he didn’t trust them not to fail beneath even the slightest of weights on them and send him crashing to the floor.

 

“Okay. Here,” Sam tried to lift him but Dean waved him away, eyes half closed as though even that wave was too draining.

 

“Cas… Cas first,”

 

“Dean-” Came Cas' exhausted attempt at protest, instantly cut of by Dean.

 

“C’mon, Cas,”

 

Cas grumbled beside him but attempted to shift himself upright, getting as far as to the edge of the couch before pitching forward and only being stopped from banging his head on the table by Sam reaching out and catching him around the shoulder.

 

Sam hauled him to his feet, grunting a little as he adjusted to his weight and ducked underneath his arm, then started for the door; Cas only managed about three paces before Dean heard Sam muttering to himself and dragging him along.

 

“You gonna be okay?”

 

Dean knew it was a stupid question but wouldn’t stop himself from asking it; Jacob look so cold and broken there that he had serious doubts about leaving him alone all over again.

 

“I’ll have to be,”

 

“It’s… it’s a lot to take in, but it’s-”

 

“Yeah,” Jacob agreed, an exhale of breath that was harsh, etched lines in his face setting him at so very far beyond his years. “Yeah… I’ll… I’ll… I have to be okay. I’ve got… I’ve got people, I just… I'll make it okay. I'll be strong. For Charlotte,”

 

“Listen, Jacob,” Dean said, hauling himself forward. “I… got no idea how you’re feeling or… or anything at all about all this. I- I _can't_ know. But… you need someone-”

 

“I’ll call,” Jacob said with a tight smile and nod, mirroring Dean’s position across the room.

 

Sam came back in a couple of minutes later breaking the silence between them, wordlessly gripping Dean around his upper arms and hauling him up, a quick glance over at Jacob and a silent look at Dean, who shook his head knowing there was little either of them could do.

 

“We’ll, uh…” Dean tried, words and body failing as he swayed into Sam’s grip.

 

“Take care of yourself, Dean,” Jacob sighed, without looking up. “And him. Take care of him as well,”

 

A last glance back as Sam helped him to the door and Dean knew he’d likely never see Jacob again.

 

***

 

“Where’re you-”

 

Sam’s question was shut off with the clunking sound of Dean pulling on the back seat door handle, replaced instead by a tiny huff of amusement as Dean’s hand slapped down hard on the car roof to hold himself steady, and Sam stepped forward to prop him up as Dean propelled forward and sagged awkwardly down into the back seat.

 

“Hey, Cas,”

 

A tired mumble against Cas’ shoulder where he’d landed and Cas jolted awake, raising his head to blink at Dean in bewilderment then falling into him and leaning a soft, heavy sigh into his neck as Dean leaned back towards him.

 

“You two okay back there?” Sam asked with a glance in the rearview as he started up the engine.

 

Dean hummed, presuming it was probably loud enough for Sam to hear, turning his head the fraction he had energy for and kissing into Cas’ hair.

 

“Let’s get you back to the motel,” Sam sighed, steering the car out carefully enough to meet Dean’s rumbling approval.

 

“It is possible that we could go home?”

 

Dean managed to snake his arm up and around Cas, pulling him close, allowing a little hope to seep through him at Cas’ simple request.

 

“Uh… sure?”

 

Sam looked to Dean for confirmation and gave a small nod back in answer to his. “It’ll… take about... five hours. You guys gonna… we’ll stop by and pick our stuff up from the motel then… then-”

 

“Sounds good,” Dean closed his eyes and leaned into Cas’ warmth, wrapping his arms around him tightly and allowed his eyes to fall closed.

 

***

 

“I assumed you were telling me that your future did not include me in it,”

 

“I thought you were telling me you never had any intention of staying with me in the first place,”

 

Curled into the edges of their pillows blinking back at one another, pressed shin to shin and laying hand in hand, these first words of the morning bristled in the air between them with accusation and honesty. Whether they would prove volatile or neutralising words neither one of them could immediately tell; Cas’ face had that blankness to it Dean never could quite find the meaning to, and though Dean’s stomach twisted and churned in anticipation of Cas' reaction he put up his own mask of defensiveness, feeling both vindicated and vilified by their simple confessions.

 

Despite them both sleeping the entire journey home, which included Sam stopping at the motel, grimacing as he fished their motel room key out of Dean's jean pocket without even disturbing him so he could pick up their things, and another stop for gas and a quick bite to eat, when they'd pulled up in the bunker garage neither one of them stirred.

 

Sam had sat for a good few minutes softly calling them to wake, eventually giving up and sighing in exasperation. Climbing out of the car Sam had first collected their bags from the trunk and took them inside with the small hope that by the time he came back to the car they might be awake. When no such thing happened he'd dragged and lifted first Cas, then Dean to their room, and unbeknown to the pair of them collapsed into his own bed minutes later.

 

Dean continued to watch Cas back, so very frightened of saying the wrong thing now when the right words were needed so badly between them, that it made him hesitant to speak at all.

 

A flash of reminder at how close they’d actually come to Cas leaving and that hesitation snapped. Dean surged across the bed claiming a kiss that was hard, desperate, demanding. The way Cas opened up to and met him with equal and immediate force went a long way to reassure Dean of the urgency he felt as well.

 

Blasts and gasps of air escaped them as their mouths moulded and remoulded together, fingers grasping at shirt ends still worn from when they’d fallen into bed the previous evening fully clothed. A frantic fumbling to remove those clothes was replaced with a fragile bearing of skin, done with such reverent exploration Dean felt every nerve end singing.

 

Dean rolled them over until he was straddling Cas, Cas’ skin rippling beneath his fingers as Dean stroked up his sides, grabbing and pinning his hands to the bed beside his face as he kissed him hard and thoroughly, before ducking his head and having no intention or need to stop himself sucking in a bruise of claim to his neck.

 

Cas arched and gasped as Dean’s teeth broke his skin, tilting his hips so their cocks glided against each other, making them both moan out weakly in desperation and Dean bite down a little harder.

 

Cas ripped his fingers free, sliding greedy hands down his back to grip firmly around Dean’s ass and guide the way they rocked together, turning and claiming Dean’s mouth all over again in a kiss that bordered on painful, but was exactly what they both needed in that moment.

 

Cas’ hand lowered, fingers pushing Dean’s cheeks apart as one slipped between them to press bluntly against Dean’s hole. Dean broke away from the kiss and dropped his head down on Cas’ shoulder with a heavy groan, tilting his hips backwards towards that pressure wordlessly asking for more.

 

Cas flipped them over effortlessly, pinning Dean in place with his chest as he reached out without breaking eye contact for the lube in their bedside cabinet. And as he worked Dean open, staring him intently down, Cas surged forward to swallow each every groan and gasp, until Dean was writhing beneath him desperately and pulling Cas to him.

 

Sex had always been so very good between them, but when Cas slid inside and filled Dean this time there was more to it, more to think, feel and process than they’d ever taken the time to consider before. From the second Cas breached him, Dean consciously allowed himself to feel every part of Cas where they were connected, to clench and stretch around every inch of Cas inside of him; from his base solidly stretching open his rim, to Cas’ shaft tightly pressing up against every point of his inner walls, to his cockhead reaching right up inside of him sending out sparks of the sweetest pain and pleasure that Dean was stuck between crying out and tearing up at the overwhelming feel of it all.

 

Dean watched as Cas went through a similar process, felt as Cas flexed muscles to rediscover every part inside of him as well. Dean settled his hands around Cas’ waist as Cas stroked shaking fingers up his sides and breathed deep, bracing above him and staring down in what felt like sheer adoration.

 

Where every other part of them touched that awareness continued; chest against chest, legs between legs, arms beside arms. That cataloguing of how they felt to one another felt so vital then that for a good few minutes all they could do was softly breathe together and stare.

 

Dean eventually tilted his chin up asking to be kissed, and Cas gave him that willingly, the most chaste of kisses in such contrast with the way he was nestled fully inside him. And for a while this was all they were capable of, that need for connection at every single, possible point more important and urgent than any chase to pleasure that would eventually come.

 

When _need_ won out, they moved as one, frantic and demanding of each other, even more bruises were sucked into skin, fingers digging in and holding on as though they were afraid to be out of each other’s grip. Writhing together desperately, each sharp snap of Cas’ hips against Dean was met with an equally sharp one back.

 

And even after that pleasure rolled through them both, leaving them breathless and sated, that connection didn’t break. They stayed speared together for as long as their shaking limbs would allow them, before they separated and came instantly together again in a tangle of limbs and torsos that didn’t care about the mess seeping between them as they fell back to sleep.

 

***

 

“Finally come up for air?”

 

The tease in Sam's voice had Dean stand even more rigidly to disguise the ache in his limbs – and other places – as he searched through the cupboards to find ingredients to throw together something to eat.

 

“Sam,” Dean began, starting to turn towards him but stopping when Sam appeared by his side, looming over him with a huge grin spreading his face.

 

“Man, we need to get Cas fed asap; look at the state of you,”

 

Dean held his ground, staring back at Sam as his eyes swept over what had to be a fair few hickeys around his neck, unable to fight the blush warming his face but determined not to be embarrassed.

 

“Hey-”

 

Sam's mouth twitching a fraction wider and Dean took in the spark in his eyes, the joy on his face, the elation there that said just how happy Sam was to be able to tease him like that again.

 

A smile crept to Dean's face in answer, finding himself quietly grateful to be deserving and on the end of such teasing.

 

“Whatever. Anything to eat around here?”

 

“Need to do a run; wanted to make sure you guys were alive first. Wanna make a list and I'll go? Maybe pick up some pizza or something? I don't think any one of us are up for cooking right now,”

 

Dean's stomach answered for him making Sam cackle, clapping a hand around his shoulder, right over where Cas had clung especially hard to him as he'd pinned him to the bed. Sam slid his hand away again quickly, eyes widening a fraction and an adamant _I do not need to know_ blasting out of his lips before he stepped out of Dean's way and started up a batch of coffee.

 

As Sam worked Dean leaned back against the counter, quietly filled him in on the details he'd yet to tell him about Jacob, and Andrew, and everything that had happened to him and Cas at the house. He kept it brief; too tired for too many words, and too focused on setting things right between he and Cas just as soon as he could before he would let himself concentrate on anything else.

 

“Good morning, Sam,”

 

Dean had the oddest sensation of being grounded for seeing Cas entering the kitchen, his heart picking up a notch and his chest feeling like it might burst as Cas' eyes sought his out, beamed a shy smile right at him. Cas had needed longer than Dean to rouse from their bed; his eye sockets were still thick with the bruises of poor sleep, his face still pale, and his shoulders still stooped a little too much for Dean's liking. But he was here, and alive, and _with_ him; Dean couldn't imagine a more beautiful sight than that, no matter how he looked.

 

“Morning, Cas,”

 

The amusement in Sam's voice Dean registered hearing but didn't look in the direction of, still stuck in Cas' gaze and feeling his breath catch in such relief to have him standing there.

 

“How'd you feel about pizza?” Sam asked; Dean watched as Cas' hand dropped slowly to his own stomach and they all took in its quiet growl.

 

“Favourably,”

 

“'k,” Sam replied, voice still twisting up in a smirk of happiness, “I'm gonna finish making this coffee, go pick up some stuff, be back in what, an hour? Hour and a half? Think you two can last that long?”

 

Cas' eyes met Dean's again in silent agreement.

 

“I would like to shower,” Cas offered as acceptance for Sam's timescale.

 

“Yeah, me too-”

 

“Hey, wait 'till I'm out the way 'fore you start up again, huh?” Sam protested with a snort of laughter, pretending to cover his eyes and then grinning at Dean gleefully.

 

Dean glared back for all of a couple of seconds then rolled his eyes, turned and went to take cups from the cupboard before Sam shooed him away and did it himself.

 

“So,” Sam called over his shoulder, fingers slightly turning the coffee machine as it churned as though that would make any difference to what it was doing. “While you two were, uh, _sleeping_ -”

 

“Sammy-”

 

“I did a bit of digging,” Sam finished, turning around to lean back against the counter and apparently unable to keep himself from smiling.

 

“Oh yeah?” Dean replied, eyes narrowing a touch in suspicion. “Into what?”

 

“Well,” Sam said, eagerness in his voice as he pushed himself upright again, pressed his palm out as though telling Dean to wait, and disappeared out of the kitchen, returning seconds later with a tablet. “Out of pure curiosity, I looked up the couples who died in the beach house again,”

 

“Looked up?” Dean repeated, gravitating over towards Cas where he'd leaned against another surface himself, and insinuating himself in the small gap there beside him.

 

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, glancing down at the screen. “Bit of... Facebook stalking-”

 

“You're stalking dead people on Facebook?” Dean replied, his voice giving an incredulous twist up at the end.

 

Sam shrugged, appeared chastised for all of a second then looked down at the screen again. “Turns out the history on these guys... all of them. Well, all of them I could _find_ that is, all had pretty public spats online.”

 

“ _Spats_?”

 

“Yeah, you know. Making up and breaking up publicly, posting it all over Facebook for everyone to see and be made uncomfortable by,”

 

Dean snorted, shaking his head with a small groan. “Oh that's kinda gross. Why'd people do that?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, tapping a finger along the tablet side. “And I'm probably exaggerating; four of the couples were, uh, public in their arguments online, including the very first one-”

 

“Didn't the last couple have police reports filed about disturbances and getting kicked out of bars and stuff?” Dean added, nodding to himself.

 

“Exactly. And this couple-” Sam stepped forward with the tablet to show Dean a picture of them, continued to stand right in front of them, “Apparently at _his_ funeral the police were called... because his _girlfriend_ showed up and his _dead_ girlfriend's family, uh, _objected strongly_ ,”

 

“You're kidding,” Dean said, eyes down at the screen again and shaking his head; Cas leaned into his side to give his own curious look and didn't pull back from Dean when they straightened back up. Dean pressed a little closer into his warmth, content.

 

“Nope. No kidding,”

 

“And the others?” Dean asked, watching as Sam spun away again to put the tablet on the table and go over to the coffee machine sounding as though it was almost done.

 

“Couldn't find anything about them. Maybe... maybe they kept their arguments more private?”

 

“So... so you're saying the only thing these couples probably had in common was... was that they were _fighting_?” Dean asked, unable to keep the doubt from his voice, even when Jacob's speculation came back to him.

 

Sam turned back and shrugged. “Guess so. I don't know, but... that couple who wrote to us. They'd been arguing as well-”

 

“Yeah, and they're still here,” Dean pointed out, telling himself the connection was probably a stretch.

 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, turning away again and pouring out two cups of coffee that he came back to Dean and Cas with and pressed into their hands. “Exactly. But they... they worked it out. What if... what if all these couples went away for a break to try and... I don't know. Save their relationships but... but it was already over and they were just... I don't know. Kidding themselves?”

 

“Last ditch attempt?”

 

“Well, yeah, something like that, maybe,”

 

Dean hummed to himself, still sceptical but happy enough for Sam to make the connection if he wanted to.

 

And,” Sam added, reaching out for the tablet yet again, “Get this,”

 

There was an odd pitch to his voice when he turned back to them; Dean's eyes narrowed automatically in suspicion all over again.

 

“Turns out... turns out Brook- Brook Senior- was... according to this report I dug up anyway, I think-”

 

“Sam-”

 

“Looks like... looks like he really was having a change of heart. Looks like... looks like he was trying to fix things with his family. At least-”

 

Dean watched Sam nod to himself as he scrolled through the screen and then handed the tablet over to him to look.

 

“Turns out the guy Brook got into a fight with at Norfolk was making _homophobic slurs_. Brook took against whatever he was saying, knocked the guy out, got into a pretty serious scuffle in the process,”

 

“You think... you think he was-”

 

“He'd scheduled a visit to Great Lakes about a week before Jacob Junior, uh, _died_. Maybe... maybe he was going to apologise? Have it out with him or something?”

 

“Maybe,” Dean thought it over to himself for a moment, sad for the Jacob they'd met if he'd missed out on the chance to reconcile with his family, though wondering if his life would have been any better if he was still in the Navy when his heart had never been in it in the first place. He'd still lost Andrew after all; there was no way of making up for that.

 

“And you know...” Dean added, thinking again, “There... there was that thing in the newspaper about... I _guess_ about Brook Senior taking his wife away for a surprise, a... uh _reminder_ of when they'd sort of run away together when they were teens,”

 

Sam gave a slow nod, smiling ruefully back at him. “So maybe... maybe Brook Senior really was trying to make things right. With his son, with his wife-”

 

“Yeah, well,” Dean said, taking a sip of the coffee he'd forgotten about temporarily and humming in approval at the taste, “s' a nice thought and all, but... don't change anything now, right?”

 

“Right,” Sam agreed, tight-lipped and his face pinched in sympathy. “Anyway-”

 

“'s a good theory though,” Dean added, smiling back at him as he finished draining his cup.

 

“Yeah,”

 

“I'd... maybe we can look up old Mrs Harris,” Dean mused, leaning in a little tighter to Cas' side, just because he could.

 

“Andrew's mom?” Sam asked, nodding along with Dean's nod of confirmation.

 

“I... maybe it's none of our business but. If she's... if she's still around. Maybe it'd be good for Andrew- _Jacob_ to have... I don't know. _Someone_ from his past. Someone he can share that with,”

 

Sam smiled his agreement back at him. “I'll look her up when I get back,”

 

There was a short silence, and Dean watched as Sam's eyes strayed to Cas' own neck covered in the hickeys he'd sucked in there himself, saw the way his face twisted up in mirth all over again, and pushed himself away from the counter.

 

“So,” Sam said, stepping back automatically, “I'll... I'll go get food. Anything you want, Cas?”

 

Sam jotted down a quick note to himself with both Cas and Dean's requests, promising to be back soon. He stopped in the doorway, turned back to them with his mouth hanging open as though he wanted to say something then just shrugged, smiled a ridiculously happy smile in their direction and walked out.

 

Cas stared after him for a second; Dean slotted himself in front of him and plucked his now-empty cup from his fingers, resting his elbows over Cas' shoulders and sighing at the feel of Cas raising and wrapping his arms low around his waist.

 

“Shower with me?” Dean asked, ducking in for a kiss.

 

Cas nodded, squeezing Dean back to him when Dean began to turn away, kissing him again, opening it up until Dean moulded himself around him.

 

“We'd, uh,” Dean began, sighing softly as Cas pulled away to press kisses over what had to be the bruises on Dean's neck, “We'd... we'd best not still be standing here like this when he gets back. We'll never live it down if-”

 

Cas cut him off with one more, firmer kiss then pushed Dean back bodily with his chest, slotted their fingers together, and pulled him in the direction of the bathroom.

 

***

 


	15. Chapter 15

“So the reason you keep going on about… about _Lisa_ ,” Dean finally blurted out several more hours after they'd showered and eaten, throughout which they'd stayed wrapped together as close as was possible, only moving when their bodies told them they had to. Now that he’d given himself the time to think about it, Dean realised her name had cropped up in conversations several times over the last couple of months, and each one of those times it had been brought up in a very dejected way by Cas.

 

Dean felt Cas grow still and cautious in his arms, and squeezed him tighter before pulling back, linking their hands together and knowing they’d both have to fight their way through this one with eye contact so not a single word could be misinterpreted or misunderstood. “The reason you keep talking about Lisa,” Dean repeated, quieter, eyes on Cas’ taking every tiny movement there in, “Is ‘cos… ‘cos when I… when I talked about.. When I told you I looked up at you as… as… as a _star_ when you were gone… and… wow that sounds all kindsa crazy when I say it out loud like that...”

 

Dean allowed the words to fade away from him in the hope that Cas would fill in the blanks. Cas continued to stare back unspeaking though, looking unwilling or unable to say anything at all.

 

“You were talking about doing that from her garden, Dean,” Cas said eventually, so very quiet Dean had to lean in to hear.

 

Dean sucked in a breath at the cracked, pained way Cas finally started speaking and tried to give him the strength to keep going by holding himself calm and still.

 

“You talked about… about me being little more than… than some benevolent being… _source_ ... that… that you had no attachment to. No… connection, aside from being some _thing_ you spoke to when you were… when you were suffering, or wanted something,” The hollowness of Cas’ voice had Dean closing his eyes in sadness, though forcing them open again immediately so Cas would know he was hanging on his every word.

 

“You said… you spoke about having a child, Dean,”

 

Dean had to think then, force himself to remember the moment clearly, to try and figure out where exactly was the point when everything had gone to hell. One of Dean’s favourite daydreams came to him then, of a time far in the future when they were _done_ with the hunting life, of sitting there watching Sam meet someone, their kids grow up, have kids of their own one day, and all of that done with Cas by his side, safe in the knowledge that _they'd_ helped make the world a safe enough place for people to raise families in.

 

“I… I said about a kid… I kinda meant _grandkid_ , Cas. I kinda meant _Sam’s_ kid - grandkids,”

 

“I assumed,” Cas continued, his face twisting up in sadness as tears brightened his eyes and began to bead up in the corners, “I assumed you were talking about your own children. Your own children with-”

 

“With _Lisa_ ,” Dean finished for him, holding back the loud, rumbling groan he felt stirring in his chest.

 

“You were talking about being in her garden-”

 

“Not- I didn’t mean _then_ , Cas, like… like I wasn't talking about future me with her. I just meant… I meant…”

 

“I thought you were telling me you always intended to go back to her… I thought because that was something we could never have together I was... I was merely something to pass the time for you...” Cas broke then, sobbing out in such hurt it sounded as though he had been storing it up and rehashing it to himself over and over, and, Dean realised, that was probably very close to the truth. Dean gathered him up as close as he could, holding on as Cas worked his way through all of those tears, until he was hiccuping and sniffling and hiding his face in Dean’s neck.

 

Dean tried to move him, felt Cas rapidly shaking his head against him, held on a little tighter then rolled forward, reaching out to grab the box of tissues beside the bed. He pressed the box against Cas’ hip until he noticed it was there, held it steady as Cas took one out, backed away from him embarrassed and did his best to discreetly wipe his face and blow his nose. When Cas had finished Dean sat up himself, cradling his face and capturing Cas’ mouth in a kiss so loaded there was no way for Cas to doubt any of the feeling behind it.

 

“I thought you… you were telling me that were you never to see me again, it would be no hardship. That I meant so little to you.... That what we had was so fleeting-”

 

Dean pulled him in for another soft kiss, leaning their foreheads together. “If I had to be away from you longer than a _weekend_ I think it might kill me, Cas. Even that might be too long; I’m a needy bastard when it comes to you… kinda thought you’d noticed that. That… maybe that was part of the reason you didn’t wanna be here-”

 

“I do not wish to be anywhere else _but_ here,” Cas protested with his voice cracking and tears beading in his eyes all over again, shaking his head rapidly back and forth and looking back at Dean pleading for him to understand.

 

“Yeah but you kinda said something different, Cas,” Dean pointed out, remembering all too well the way it had felt as though he had been slit open and salt poured by the bucket load into the wound when Cas said he was _never intended to walk the Earth indefinitely_. Dean repeated that line back to him, quiet and soft, because it still hurt far too much to allow the words to escape from his mouth from where they usually ran torturing laps around his mind.

 

“I was retaliating, Dean,” Cas shook his head slowly, before leaning in and claiming his own gentle kiss. “I was merely… it was what you call a ‘kneejerk reaction’,”

 

“I hurt you, you hurt me?” Dean amended with a sigh, thinking just how very stupid the two of them had been.

 

“I really did give up everything for you, Dean,” Cas told him, eyes searching out to check Dean saw the honesty in his words. “I have been offered… and I have turned down so much… each and every time. To be with you. To be only with you. I… my powers have dwindled and now all but disappeared because… because I severed the connection with heaven. Intentionally. Because I wanted to only be connected to _you_ ,”

 

“Cas…” Dean’s voice couldn’t justifiably show just how much he didn’t think he was worth any of that, but how overwhelmingly grateful he was for Cas’ sacrifice. There weren’t enough words, or gestures in the world to ever make up for what Cas had given up for him. Dean stared back at him dumbfounded, trying to process all the things he was saying to him.

 

“I believed I had been mistaken when I had allowed myself to think that you loved me back, Dean. That I… that I had been so very wrong about us. It made me… it made me question just about everything in my existence, because... because I was never intended to _love_ like this. I was... I was never intended to _feel_ , but the thought of you not wanting me, I cannot... I cannot express how very much that hurt. I have... I do not believe I have ever felt pain like that in all of my existence. It was... it was too much for me to comprehend,”

 

“That why you got so distant from me, Cas?” Dean asked, biting down on his lip and worrying at it. “Why you… why it started taking you so long to kiss me back, and why… and why you always looked so blank all of the time? Why you kept... you kept pulling back from me like you'd forgotten yourself or something?”

 

“I _had_ to, Dean, you must understand. I _had_ to. I realised- I thought that… that I was holding you back from living a life with someone you really wished to be with. To raise a family with them, and grow old with them. And I… I kept telling myself I loved you enough to let you go… to let you be happy loving someone else. But I wasn’t ready to let go of you, each and every time I tried. And I knew it was selfish, knew that I had to and I just… I just… I did not know how to respond, not when I could not bear to be away from you. I could not stop myself from reaching for you, but every time I found myself doing it I had to... I had to _stop_ ,”

 

“You hurt me so much, Cas,” Dean whispered, a painful click in his throat as he tried to swallow back yet more tears. “Every time you- you pulled away from me, and… and kept telling me you were leaving. I-”

 

“I assumed you wanted me to go,” Cas said, his voice trembling with the effort of revealing what he was feeling. “That you were just… holding on to me out of a sense of kindness. Or misplaced duty. Or... 'killing time'. That… that you did not truly mean it when you said that you did not want me to leave,”

 

Cas, Dean thought then to himself, though didn’t think it was the right time to say it out loud, was just as guilty as he was of only hearing what _he_ wanted to hear as well. So he would have to do all he could to make him hear the truth of it, as well as learn that lesson for himself. “Will you listen to me now, then, Cas? Please?”

 

Cas’ jaw trembled violently but he nodded anyway, breathing in so shallow it whistled into him, and looking back at Dean so worriedly Dean almost had the urge to ask what he was expecting him to say, if he was expecting rejection even now. He didn’t though, instead braced himself, weighed his words and considered them carefully this time before he spoke.

 

“Gotta be honest, Cas. When we... when we first... you know. Got together, I... I didn't expect... I just thought you... I thought you were maybe just like... I don't know. Wanting to experience something new, something, uh, something _human,_ ” Dean bit down hard on his lip now that the confession had escaped, staring back at Cas fearfully in case it was about to be confirmed. When Cas didn't so much as blink Dean forced himself to carry on.

 

“And... and I kept telling myself... I kept telling myself it was okay, that I could... I could pretend it was just a... I guess just an experiment for me as well. That... that it didn't kill me... the thought... the thought of you just... _killing time_ with me when... when I'd already fallen for you so badly, I...” Dean's broke, his words coming to a cracked halt as he screwed his face up, shook his head vehemently at Cas' soft call of his name, gripped on to him tighter and made himself open his eyes.

 

“I don’t get it. I still don't honestly get it. I don’t get how- how you’d even _want_ me, Cas. Why you’d even _want_ to spend a lifetime with me when there’s… there’s gotta be a million other, better people to spend the time with. Or if not _people_ then- then so many better things you could be experiencing than... this... this pathetic excuse of a life that's all I got to offer you. There- I guess I never really believed that I lucked out so much to have you love me back,”

 

Cas looked as though he was in danger of interrupting; Dean leaned forward and pressed a firm, placating kiss to his lips before reluctantly pulling back.

 

“I’ve loved you, for god _knows_ how long now, Cas. And when we… when we finally got our heads out of our asses and just… worked out so well together. I guess I just… I was always on alert to figuring out the catch,”

 

Cas continued staring back, looking as though he was barely even breathing.

 

“And- and on some days, I… I couldn’t get over that feeling that… that you were just biding your time with me. Scratching an itch. Experimenting, maybe-”

 

“Dean-”

 

“And on days when I woke up feeling like that I- I looked for signs of it. For anything- anything that’d fit me feeling like that. ‘Cos you’re too incredible to really want _me_ like this,”

 

Cas adamantly shook his head, refusing Dean’s words, and instead of retorting Dean grimaced against him, breathed slow, and shook his head. “I don’t feel like I _deserve_ you, Cas. And when... when you said you were going it just... it just felt like confirmation that I'd been right all along. It's... it's why I kept asking you to stay but... but didn't... why I didn't really fight it...”

 

Cas stared back at him wide eyed and pinned him in place with nothing more than a look. “Then we have this entire lifetime- and whatever comes next for us both- to find a way to prove that ridiculous notion wrong,”

 

Dean stared back at Cas until he felt himself crumble, pulling him tight against him in a brutal grip and crying hard against his shoulder, groaning in relief when Cas’ arms wrapped around him immediately and equally as tight. “So stupid. We’re… we’re both so stupid. I can’t… why the hell did we _do_ this to each other, huh?” Dean choked out eventually, his voice scratchy and raw from tears and confessions, feeling more exposed than he thought he'd ever felt in his life.

 

“I believe you once referred to us both as a couple of dumbasses, Dean,” Cas mumbled into his hair, squeezing his arms around him. “I would say that sentiment is still so very fitting,”

 

“I love you so much,” Dean choked out, burying himself against Cas even tighter as though he could disappear into him.

 

“I have only loved you, Dean,”

 

Dean turned his face into Cas’ neck, pressing kiss after grateful kiss there until his tears overwhelmed him all over again and he pressed closer still, feeling it impossible to get close enough to him. It was some comfort feeling Cas doing exactly the same, the way he pulled him in, managing to wriggle them down the bed further, his own quiet sobs and tears making just as much a mess of Dean as he was doing to him.

 

In the aftermath, so drained, so very broken after misunderstandings and hurtful words, after a case that had almost been the end of them in so many different ways, they laid cocooned together as they worked all of their heartaches slowly out of them. It was like poison sifting up to the surface, occasional spasms of pain jolting through them at remembered hurts, pulses of sorrow on hearing the outward expression of all the pain they had caused each other, and finally dissipating out of them leaving them not quite yet whole, but at least lighter than they had been in so very long.

 

“You are my world, Dean, you are my world,” Cas told him earnestly, clutching on to him as though he never planned on letting him go again.

 

Dean closed his eyes, allowing himself a heavy sigh of relief, and thankfulness. “You’re _mine_ , Cas. Just… _mine_. Not giving you up, not for anything,”

 

Careful hands stroked up over his stubbled cheeks until gentle palms cradled him, held Dean so carefully it felt as though he was in danger of breaking. A nudge of lips against his and Dean drew in a soft breath at the tenderness of it, of how Cas leaned, turned his head, did all the moving needed to keep pressing these softest of kisses on him.

 

Fingers spread and slid down his neck, circling apologetically over bruises sucked in there, flaring out to do the same to his shoulders. Cas’ palms were wide and warm against Dean’s skin, stroking outwards as though determined to touch every single part of him. Without removing his hands from Dean’s shoulders Cas rolled forward, until Dean felt the solid comfort of the mattress beneath his back. And Cas’ exploration continued; those gentle hands in a light grip down Dean’s arms, until Cas was twisting his hands around to slot their fingers together and brought their joined hands up to press lightly against the bed.

 

The sensation of being worshipped continued for Dean; he kept his eyes closed losing himself in the feel of Cas’ lips against him, straining to hear the adulations muttered into his skin. A hot breath ghosting over his nipple had him gasping, as gentle teeth held it in a grip that sent a jolt of desire spiralling through his abdomen. A tip of tongue lick had him trembling; the insinuation of a bite to his peck as Cas moved across him trembling further still. Stubble sent shivers through him as it grazed over his chest before teeth carefully claimed his other nipple, another flick of tongue and Dean was gasping all over again.

 

Dean’s arms went willingly when Cas pulled them lower, the backs of his hands gliding along the sheets and coming to a stop when Cas squeezed them where he wanted them to stay. Down by Dean’s hips, Cas’ thumbs reached out to caress him, as Cas pressed his nose against Dean’s stomach and inhaled. Lips joined seconds later, Dean’s skin rippling at the drag and mouthing of them over him, until those lips pressed kisses in a trail sinking lower and lower, and Dean’s eyes flew open with a start. Cas released his hands, shifting fluidly to part Dean’s legs, nudged in the gap in between them with his shoulders then slid his fingers beneath him until he was lightly gripping Dean’s ass. Dean tilted his head, watched as Cas mouthed over him to almost full hardness, licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock and swallowed him down.

 

Forearms pressed and shifted until Dean was pinned in place, Cas swirling his tongue over his head and bobbing up and down the length of his shaft with devoted determination. Dean’s feet slipped against the sheets trying to get a purchase on something as a roll of pleasure built heated in him, until Cas was pulling off of him and watching greedily as Dean’s cock bobbed in the air in front of him. Dean’s breath rattled out of him, catching as Cas looked up at him with fire in his eyes. Cas kept that gaze as he pressed one more kiss to Dean’s head then slid himself lower, gripping around Dean’s knees to raise and open them, ducked to press a kiss to his inner thigh.

 

Solid palms slid over Dean then, thumbs trailing a path through the hair at the base of his cock, down over his balls, settling on his cheeks and joining the rest of Cas’ hands in gentle pulling and holding him open. The first slide of Cas’ tongue over his hole and Dean was whimpering, unable to support the weight of his head as it fell back against the pillow and his thigh muscles twitched against being restrained. A flat lick, a swirled tip; Cas worked him open with the dip of his tongue, loosening the muscle of his rim enough to allow it to slip inside of him, where it darted out to caress as far as Dean’s body would allow. Dean gasped and thrashed beneath him, rolls of this most secret of pleasures setting all of his nerve endings ablaze. He felt his cock twitching, the leak of precum down his shaft, but couldn’t unscrew his eyes to look down, knowing one look at Cas there licking at his hole would be the undoing of him.

 

A brush of lips, a little darted lick, and the full press of a mouth over him. One rapid suck and Dean was stuttering, eyes blasting open as Cas pulled away, crawled his way up his body, nuzzling the entire way up. Trembling hands smoothed over the smoothness of Cas’ back, showing gratitude with caresses as Cas sank his knees beneath his splayed thighs, holding him open with the press of his hips against him. A roll forward, the lingering sensation of their cocks dragging tackily together, and Cas was pitching forward claiming a slow yet insistent kiss.

 

The click of a bottle cap opening; Dean’s eyes opened yet again to the sound. Dean looked down as Cas crawled over him to his side, circled a lubed up finger over his hole before pressing it inside. Dean arched to meet it, angling himself until he whimpered, listening to the difficult breathing of Cas beside him as they both looked down to watch him working Dean open. Another finger, a deeper press; Cas turned his head suddenly to capture Dean’s mouth and flick his tongue inside in time with every thrust. Dean felt stretched, tethered, floating and pinned down all at once, this build of arousal and pleasure in him seeming what he knew to be irrationally heavier than anything he'd experienced before, yet helpless but to cave into it, to take all of what Cas was giving him.

 

Another shift, a press of hands to his inner thighs again; Dean stared down, watching Cas slicken himself up, adjust until his head was pressing against Dean’s rim. A final glance up at Dean and Cas was pulling him open, nudging just the slightest bit in before raising his eyes to stare at him as he slid inside. A delayed though shared groan later and Cas was fully seated in him, the magnitude of happiness on his face making Dean’s heart feel like it was expanding. And with the gentlest of movements Cas slid from him, before a minute role of his hips returned him to where Dean felt he belonged.

 

A couple more thrusts and Cas was falling forward, gathering Dean up in his arms as best as he could possible whilst rolling over him, kissing him in between breathless gasping. Dean rolled his hips up to meet him, and soon they were moving in an unhurried rhythm, not breaking eye contact aside from leaning in to kiss. Dean wanted to think they were joined like that for hours, with nothing but their bodies moving fluidly together as though that connection between them was undoing all of the hurt they’d put each other through. And when Cas’ knees began to tremble indicating how long they really had been at it, Dean pressed against his hip, silently telling him to stop.

 

Cas rolled on to his back and Dean sank down on him a second later, unconsciously mirroring the _oh_ of Cas' lips as he took him in. Dean slid his hands up Cas’ chest, came to rest them curled around his shoulders, riding him in tighter and tighter circles until it was impossible to keep any kind of pace. Cas gripped his hands lightly around Dean’s hips, bucking up into him at the perfect angle that had Dean falling forward with a stuttering groan. And once he’d steadied himself Dean felt Cas’ hands slide away, only for a warm palm to circle around him and begin to stroke.

 

Dean chased the heat in him, building from Cas deep inside him and his hand working him in a well-practiced rhythm showing exactly how much a part of Dean’s body Cas was. And as Dean felt himself lock down and grind his hips at the start of him coming, Cas’ own hips juddered up until Dean could feel him flooding him as well. Dean had only a couple of seconds to look down at the mess he’d made of Cas’ chest, before Cas was sitting himself upright, holding on to Dean so he could stay inside him, and leaning up to claim a slow, thankful kiss. When they finally broke apart, Dean stood on shaking legs to grab something to wipe them off with, falling into Cas’ outstretched arms a moment after. Sleepy hands and kisses as they clung on to one another, though this time with more trusting hands, ones more certain that the either one wasn’t about to slip from their grasp.

 

Feeling himself beginning to fall asleep and that it was too soon, that he still had too much he needed to say, Dean forced open his eyes, shifted so that Cas would know to look back at him. “I love you,” he said, steady and sure, without breaking eye contact, without hesitation or overthinking it.

 

“And I love you,” Cas punctuated his own words with a kiss that triggered a shudder of relief to ripple through Dean that ended with a small, thankful smile.

 

“I’m always gonna love you. So… so from now on… much as we both suck at this so bad… we’re gonna talk, Cas. We gotta talk, if... if we... if we think there's a problem or one of us 's said something and we... and we get it wrong. ‘Cos I’m not losing you again. Not ever, you hear me?”

 

Cas smiled sleepily at him, sliding his hands up to cup Dean’s face all over again, kissing him sweetly then pulling back with a grin that was both cautious and wicked, and seeing the animation in Cas’ eyes after nothing but blankness for so long, a final weight of doubt Dean had been holding on to lifted from him. “Then,” Cas said, ducking for another kiss that Dean could feel the smile in, “Please understand me when I tell you that I never want to have to _talk_ to you again,”

 

Dean felt the rawness in his eyes as they pricked with tears all over again, not for the words themselves, but the playfulness in them. It felt like so long since they had teased and joked with one another over anything, he’d convinced himself he’d never get to share anything like that with Cas ever again.

 

With his own leaned in lingering kiss Dean made himself promise after promise, trying to find the perfect words to say how perfect he was going to try to do things from now on. And with a rueful snort to himself Dean shook his head, rolling his eyes at himself for being ridiculous then dropped his forehead down on Cas' and sighed to feel his warmth against him. “I'm... imma try n' do better by us, Cas. By you,” Dean told him, trying to pour all the sincerity he could into the look and kisses he gave him. “Imma try 'n be _enough_ ,”

 

“You are already enough,” Cas countered with a firm shake of his head, pressing back against him, “You have always been enough. More,”

 

“Then I'll try and be _more_ ,” Dean offered, shuffling ever closer even though there was no further for him to go.

 

Cas wrapped his arms a little tighter around him then, still shaking his head, but smiling so lovingly Dean's heart gave a thud to see it. “It is not _more_ I need, Dean, I need... I have only ever needed _you_ ,”

 

“Then you got me. I'm yours, Cas, I'm... I'm yours. And you're... you're my whole world. You know that, don't you, Cas?”

 

Cas' smile was soft as he stared back at Dean for a moment and then it shifted, a glint in his eye as he replied with, “You are my entire existence, Dean-”

 

Dean snorted into his ear, snuggled up impossibly tighter and grinned into his skin. “Stop tryna one up me, man, we're not playing poker here-”

 

“You know, Dean,” Cas began casually, bending down and softly biting on Dean's earlobe, “I have often wondered about the rationality behind _strip_ poker. Would you be willing to teach me?”

 

Dean snorted again, hummed to himself as Cas rolled them over and began pressing kisses into his neck. “Uh... sure? We'd... we'd have to stick some clothes on first-”

 

Cas leaned back, a fake look of alarm on his face as he shook his head. “This is a terrible idea, Dean. Please pretend I never said a word,”

 

“Might have to distract me,” Dean said, running his hands up Cas' sides and humming as he worked his way down his chest, flicked his tongue out over his nipple as he went.

 

“How do you wish me to distract you?” Cas mumbled into his skin, his fingertips running so lightly down over Dean's hips that it left him trembling.

 

“Oh I don't know,” Dean said, his voice shaking a little as Cas' kisses dropped lower and lower, “I think... I'm sure you'll figure something out,”

 

“I am sure I would be excellent at poker,” Cas mused, his fingers splaying around Dean's hips and a kiss pressed low on his stomach.

 

“I'm... I'm sure you would-”

 

“I am certain I would have you naked in minutes,”

 

“Dude, you've already _got_ me naked, so why don't you- oh...”

 

“Yes, Dean?” Cas asked looking up at him innocently though his eyes were bright with wickedness and his lips slick, and beginning to blossom red. “You wanted to suggest something?”

 

Dean looked down, swallowed thickly at the intent in Cas' expression and slowly shook his head. “N-never mind...”

 

“I can stop if you are tired,”

 

“Not tired, Cas-”

 

“If you are sure, Dean,”

 

“'m sure-”

 

“If you say so,”

 

“... _Cas_...”

 

***

 


	16. Interludes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you even get interludes in fic? Huh. Well I guess you do now! This chapter is nothing but silly sappiness and is for all of those I made cry earlier. This is a late addition for you that kind of adds to but doesn't take anything away from the story. Enjoy :) xx

The hum of approval Dean gave in response to Cas' kiss rumbled deep in his chest, his fingers instantly pushing their way up the back of his shirt in case there was a chance of pulling him even closer. His fingertips brushed over the wounds they themselves had dug in earlier and Cas shuddered, his mouth curving up into a smile even as it continued to mould against Dean's. In retaliation Cas gripped hard around Dean's hips in the exact position he'd left his own bruises, and suddenly this mostly-innocent kiss debauched itself into rutting and grabbing that felt part of a continual sense of need between them that was not showing any kind of let up yet.

 

This physical rawness the two of them felt from not being able to get enough of each other neither minded, especially as its cause had moved on from being just an expression of the emotional rawness they'd caused one another to one of claim, relearning, and want. Sam had lasted a day of being in relatively close proximity to them before announcing he was _giving them space_ ; the look of joyful mirth on his face when he'd told Dean that showed just how happy he was for them – but that he really needed to be elsewhere for their extended make up session.

 

So here they were, another day later, with previously unused surfaces of the bunker finding themselves christened and defiled. Anything and everything seemed to be on the go, and things they once might have held back on or been reluctant about sharing their want for had disappeared altogether. That proximity they'd gotten themselves to Cas leaving for good had forced down all barriers between them, and there was so much to discover and rediscover about each other - and themselves.

 

Dean found himself first backed up against a door and writhed against then gripped by the wrist and insistently dragged back to their room; Cas paused enough to crowd him up against the wall there before sinking to a crouch and yanking down the waistband of Dean's joggers, taking his cock into his mouth at half mast and proceeding to suck and lick it full. Dean managed one glance down at Cas' mouth stretched around him then dropped his head back against the wall with a groaned thud.

 

At Cas' sudden standing and growled out command of _bed_ , Dean stumbled his way across the room, out of his clothes, found himself pressed flat on his back and straddled within seconds. He watched as Cas ran appreciative hands over his chest, glared at and shook the remains of the bottle of lube that they'd not quite gotten around to putting back in the drawer since they'd returned to the bunker, then slicked him up with a grip that had Dean moaning out. One wicked smirk later and Cas was wrapping his hand around Dean's base and positioning himself over him, sinking down on his cock with an arched neck and groan that sent a thrill like electric pulsing through.

 

“My knees,” Cas explained, bracing his hands on Dean's chest as he rocked himself repeatedly full of him with a series of low moans, “They are still tender from earlier. I do not think they would have appreciated the library floor,”

 

Dean grinned, sliding appreciative hands around Cas' hips and spreading his own legs so he could easier piston himself in and out of him from beneath. _Earlier_ could technically mean at least couple of occasions, and who was he to complain about having a lapful of a grinding and groaning Cas intent on riding him until they were both sated all over again?

 

***

 

“I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry...”

 

Dean's string of apologies blasted out as erratic as his heartbeat as he wrapped his arms vice-like around Cas, pressing kisses anywhere he could get them. Cas remained rigid in his arms for a few seconds then softened, raising his arms to wrap around Dean's waist and drop his forehead down on his shoulder with a drawn out sigh.

 

“Please, Cas, I didn't mean-”

 

“Dean,”

 

The command in Cas' voice had Dean's heart hammering a fraction faster but he made himself straighten up, look Cas in the eye, accept whatever he was about to say to him.

 

“I'm sorry-”

 

“ _Dean_ ,”

 

Exasperation coloured Cas' answer along with what Dean hoped was a touch of amusement. Cas stared back at him for what felt like a lot longer than it probably was, but then rolled his eyes and leaned in, pressing a kiss to Dean's cheek, offering up a tired smile.

 

“You must stop _doing_ this,” Cas insisted; Dean's panic spiked higher and without any conscious effort he was wrapping himself even tighter around him.

 

“I didn't mean-”

 

“You are allowed to disagree with me, Dean. As I am allowed to disagree with you,”

 

“I-”

 

A disgruntled grumble blasted out of Cas then and was followed by an insistent kiss that firmly prevented Dean from answering. The kiss got a little heated, with Cas annoyed at both their differing of opinions and Dean's fear that he'd pushed him too far, and Dean's urgent need to make his apology thoroughly known.

 

This disagreement – because it was surely that in place of an actual argument, Dean reasoned to himself - had come out of nowhere. One minute they were walking easily hand in hand through the town they'd just finished a hunt in, and the next they were raising their voices, disagreeing over the fact that Cas didn't pay nearly enough attention for Dean's liking when it came to negotiating traffic.

 

“We will never agree on everything, Dean,” Cas managed to tell him when they'd pulled back enough to regain their breath, “And there is nothing wrong with that. I still think that you are wrong-”

 

“Cas-”

 

“But we are allowed to have differing opinions,” Cas finished, cutting Dean off with a look meant to silence him.

 

Dean held his tongue despite the effort it took, staring Cas down as he composed and recomposed what he wanted to say. And in doing so, he realised how stupid their disagreement was, how very pointless. And as Cas was trying to tell him despite him not _listening_ , how normal it was to disagree. How okay it was, and how okay _they_ were. His realisation must have been written all over his face for the way Cas beamed at him then and pulled him in tighter for a hug.

 

“I love you,” Dean told him immediately, kissing it into his cheek, his ear, his neck.

 

“As I love you,” Cas assured him, squeezing him tight.

 

“I just... you never look where you're going, Cas,” Dean tried again, wincing at the accusation in his tone. “I just... you don't take care of yourself like you should. You stepped right out in front of that car, and if I hadn't pulled you back-”

 

“Dean,” Cas cut him off again, and Dean watched as he closed his eyes, clearly bit his tongue against any retorts that might not have come out as polite as he intended. “we had the right of way,”

 

“Yeah but-”

 

“And I am well aware of _what is going on around me_ ,” Cas continued with a firm shake of his head. “You do not need to worry so much,”

 

“You don't have your powers anymore, Cas,” Dean said, his voice soft and worried and seeming to melt Cas' expression into one of affection. “I'd hate... I can't... I can't lose you 'cos of... 'cos you're not paying _attention_. 'cos you're not looking out for yourself. I-”

 

“You are wrong,” Cas told him insistently but softened it with a kiss. “I _am_ aware. And I am _well_ aware that I no longer have my powers. I do have, however, common sense-”

 

“I didn't say you didn't-”

 

“Thank you for caring about me so much,” Cas interrupted, kissing him in clear affection and clearly unable to stop the smile from seeping across his face. “It would also kill me to lose you over anything, especially something as trivial as being hit by a car,”

 

Dean felt himself frowning, heard his own grumble of _being hit by a car's far from_ _trivial_ , then Cas' humph of retort, and told himself to _shut the hell up_.

 

“We can agree to disagree,” Cas told him, smiling hard. “We are allowed to do that. You do not need to apologise for that. I will, however, continue to tell you when I believe you to be wrong. I urge you to do the same; we need not be so _careful_ with each other, Dean. We agreed that we would _talk_ if we had things that needed discussing. We are _good_ ,”

 

At Cas' insistent words Dean felt himself relax, cursing himself under his breath for overreacting yet _again_. Of course Cas was right; there would never be a time – or a need for them to agree on every single aspect of their lives. But that didn't mean it was right or even healthy to remain on constant tenterhooks. He just had to keep reminding himself of that instead of panicking every time his words made Cas do anything but smile; _that_ was far too big an ask of anyone, least of all himself.

 

As though hearing Dean's internal argument and approving of its outcome, Cas stepped away from him then, wriggled his fingers for Dean to take up again, and a moment later they were continuing their walk, glancing over at each other ruefully and nudging against one another's arms.

 

***

 

“That one,”

 

Cas followed the point of Dean's finger up at the night sky and squinted, attempting to focus on the solitary star Dean was insistent was brighter than all the others. Dean glanced down at his face to check he was seeing what he himself was seeing then huffed with frustration, hopping up to sit on the hood of the Impala and pulling Cas to stand between his legs, a firm kiss pressed to his cheek as Dean hooked his chin over his shoulder and an arm around his chest.

 

“Look again,” Dean insisted, leaning his head against Cas' and raising his free hand to point once more. “That one, right there. Looks like the bottom one of a triangle. Brightest one all around up there,”

 

Cas looked a second time, wriggling back into Dean's warmth and finally deciding he could see exactly what Dean was pointing out. “It is... bright,” he conceded, and was rewarded with a loud smack of a kiss to his cheek followed by a tight squeeze of an arm.

 

“'course. Why'd I settle for anything but the best if _that_ was all I thought I had left of you, huh?”

 

Cas found Dean's logic confounding but affectionate, and instead of voicing his _still_ smarting wound at the feeling this entire confession had left him with initially instead settled himself back further still in Dean's embrace and allowed his head to fall on Dean's shoulder. Dean dropped down the hand he was pointing with to wrap that arm around Cas as well, shifting to press his forehead against the back of Cas' shoulder then nuzzling kisses into his neck and cheek that had Cas' lips curving up into a smile.

 

“I mean I get why... I get why it sounded _dumb_. I- I get why you... you know you mean so much more to me than all you've ever _done_ for me, right, Cas? I... I know I can be cold at times, but... you're more than just some... you're just... you're _more_ , okay?”

 

Cas smiled at Dean's attempt at explaining himself, silently agreeing with Dean's repeated confession that he hated how badly he _sucked at the talking thing_. Not, Cas added to himself with a grip of his fingers between Dean's, that he himself was any better at it.

 

Another grip of their fingers and Cas was spinning himself, pressing tightly up against Dean's chest and splaying his fingers wide over his thighs. “I suppose there are _worse_ comparisons,” Cas mumbled, stretching enough to claim a kiss.

 

“I-”

 

“You could,” Cas cut him off with a firmer kiss, “Have described me as a genie in a lantern,” and pulled back enough to watch Dean's eyes blow wide with surprise.

 

“Uh-”

 

“Which would, of course, have made you _Aladdin_ ,” Cas added, grinning at him. “Although many depictions of this character do portray him shirtless, which is something I very much approve of you being,”

 

Dean's attempt to answer Cas cut off yet again with a kiss, this one a little more thorough and leaving them both pulling back breathless from. The hesitant confusion on Dean's face had Cas grinning wider and unable to resist leaning in for yet another kiss.

 

“You're... tons hotter than any genie,” Dean finally replied with when it appeared his words had unstuck themselves; that uncertain look he was giving him had Cas smiling all over again.

 

“Unless of course you merely thought of me as the _lamp_ -”

 

“Cas-”

 

“You do like _rubbing_ me, Dean,”

 

The startled, bewildered look on Dean's face was too much for Cas. He fell forward bumping his forehead against Dean's chest and laughed hard, raising his hands to wrap around his waist and tug him closer. Dean shuffled forward an inch more, all but falling off the edge of the hood, squeezing back a little with his thighs and wrapping his arms tightly around his back, dropping a kiss on the back of his head.

 

“Thankfully more than three times,” Cas added after a moment of silence between them, a lull in the silliness that seemed to catch Dean unawares if the way he grew so still against him was anything to go by.

 

“This... this 's what I get for tryna be _romantic_ , huh?” Dean said a little later, his voice so full of confusion and doubt it had Cas squeezing him a little harder and holding back yet another smile.

 

“I would suggest that you were attempting to be _poetic_ , not romantic, Dean; you do _that_ rather well,” Cas amended, pulling back enough to be able to grin up at him. Dean's eyebrows narrowed, as he clearly tried to work out if he was being mocked. Cas gripped tighter around Dean's waist and pulled until he was stood again, pressed hard back against the car.

 

“When I told you I wished to begin running with Sam, you bought me an mp3 player and made me playlists. You named the device _Angel_ ; I saw it when you added me the songs I told you I had enjoyed hearing on the radio the day before,”

 

“I-”

 

“And when I mentioned that I liked the relish we had on our burgers in a diner you _called_ them to check the brand after we left, then drove to three separate stores until you found it,”

 

“It... it was good relish-”

 

“And,” Cas added with a long, firm kiss to silence him, “you insisted on taking me to an apiary because I _like bees_ , then on making a salted honey pie from the jars of honey you purchased there – although perhaps the pie _was_ more for you than it was for me,”

 

Dean's open-mouthed look of surprise transformed into a smile, and he stood a little straighter wrapping his arms a little more confidently around him. “Yeah, well-”

 

“ _And_ ,” Cas continued, kissing him harder still, “you taught yourself how to tell me that you loved me in Enochian, then proceeded to write it on the steamed up glass in our motel bathroom mirror-”

 

“I spelt it wrong-”

 

“You _did_ ,” Cas agreed, his grin growing wicked, “And your, uh, _amendment_ was most... _enjoyable_ ,”

 

The look on Dean's face told Cas his mind was exactly where his own was, and they shared a smile at the joint memory, leaning in for yet another kiss that had them pressing tighter together and losing all sense of time. When Cas pulled back and grinned at him Dean rolled his eyes, but looped his arms low around Cas' waist and nuzzled against him, his lips curving up into a rueful smile.

 

“So what you're saying, Cas, is, uh... no more stars?” Dean asked a moment later; and despite the limited lighting Cas was sure that he was blushing.

 

“No more stars,” Cas confirmed, nodding solemnly, “Although if you wish to commence with the _rubbing_ at any time, that will be very acceptable,”

 

A snort of uncontrolled laughter forced its way out of Dean then; Cas beamed up at the incredulous smiling shake of his head then leaned in for a final kiss before insisting that they return home.

 

***

 

“'m still mad at you,”

 

Cas gave an anguished whimper and wriggled himself further against Dean's chest, continuing the trail of kisses and nibbles to Dean's neck that he knew full well would get him the attention he wanted. Sure enough, minutes later Dean's chest expanded with the pressure of a huge sigh, and his arms grudgingly raised to wrap around Cas, pulling him close.

 

“Don't matter how long you keep that up,” Dean insisted, though his eyes were closed and he knew he was all but purring at the feel of Cas' lips and teeth on him. “Still mad,”

 

“But-”

 

“Nope,” Dean cut Cas off immediately though at the same time dropped a kiss down on the top of his head. “I told you there was like, no need for you to react like that. But you went and did it anyway-”

 

“She would not leave you alone-”

 

“Cas,” Dean laughed, mentally kicking himself for it. Because he _wanted_ to stay mad at him for longer, because Cas really _was_ overreacting pointlessly, and he needed him to _know_ that. “Wouldn't matter if every woman from the Playboy mansion came and paraded on my doorstep. Not interested, not even for a _second_. 'm _yours_ , okay?”

 

Cas slid to the side and propped himself up on his elbows, fingers playing absently with the edge of his pillow as he glowered at it. “She kept _touching_ you, Dean,”

 

“She grabbed my arm _once_ , Cas. _Once_. And I don't know if you noticed through that red fog you had going on,” Dean said with a half-roll over so he could reach up to prod Cas in the forehead, making him look up, “But I stepped away from her when she did that. Hell, I even turned and pointed to you 'cross the bar. Said I'd already lucked out with the hottest guy on the planet and wasn't interested in anyone but him,”

 

Dean couldn't stop his grin at the way Cas squared his shoulders a little at the praise, and his attempts at keeping angry with Cas evaporated, finding himself pulling Cas back closer to him and leaning in for a kiss he still wasn't sure Cas deserved yet.

 

“I was _angry_ ,” Cas answered with, careful, trying out the word with a definite frown still on his face.

 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, wriggling closer with a smile, “I was there for that. You had the whole bar looking at us when you started raising your voice and getting all indignant with me,”

 

Cas' mumbled reply Dean didn't catch, but it made him smile even harder all the same.

 

“Not gonna deny it, Cas. You getting possessive like that? Hot as _hell_. But you gotta... you coulda done it without tryna pick a fight with me in the first place, huh?” Dean watched Cas slowly raise his eyes, as they fell on his lips where Cas had kissed him brutally right in the middle of that bar before storming out in a rage, and his face twisted up in contrition.

 

“You can... kiss the hell outta me any time you like, okay? 'cos I'm _yours_. _Only_ yours. But you know-”

 

“There are better ways to go about it,” Cas reluctantly finished for him, rolling himself ever closer until he could snuggle down beneath Dean's chin and mutter into his skin. Dean grinned hard to himself and wrapped his arms around him a little tighter, dropping kisses over Cas' hair until he settled against him with a soft huff.

 

“Yeah, Cas. There _are_ ,”

 

Cas gave another anguished wriggle against him then hoisted himself up and over Dean, peppering his face with kisses of apology until Dean laughed loud and hard, cupping Cas' face to pull him in for a more thorough kiss of his own.

 

***

 

“Dean. You must shower. You smell terrible,”

 

“Oh _that's_ a nice way to talk to the supposed love of your life-”

 

“You _are_ the love of my life, smell or no smell-”

 

“When they've been laid up in bed _sick_ for a week-”

 

“I have laid here with you almost the entire time-”

 

“And honestly? I don't know if I'm even _capable_ of-”

 

“I was offering to shower _with_ you, Dean,”

 

Dean froze from where he'd been mid-indignant roll away from Cas, looking back over his shoulder still sulking though with definite interest in his narrow-eyed expression.

 

“You'll come with?”

 

Cas' mouth curled up into an instant smile at the petulant though hopeful tone of Dean's voice, schooling it in just enough to look back at him solemnly and nod. “Of course,”

 

Dean hummed to himself and took another moment before rolling back over and looking up at Cas expectantly. “Well. Might be able to persuade me-”

 

“I will even _help_ , Dean,” Cas promised with a quiet, wicked murmur as he leaned down at an awkward angle to drop a soft kiss on to his lips. Dean grinned automatically forgetting he was supposed to be pouting, then tilted his chin up asking for another which he received without hesitation.

 

“That definitely changes things,” Dean decided, pressing his palms against the bed and testing to see what strength he had in his arms to push himself up. When he managed to haul himself upright with minimal shaking Cas smiled in reward, leaning forward to kiss his shoulder and then stood and stretched, the entire time with Dean's eyes heatedly on the rising of his t-shirt. Cas caught him looking and let out a blast of knowing laughter, turning away.

 

“You are most definitely feeling better,”

 

Dean opened his mouth to protest but instead allowed himself to be thoroughly distracted by his view of Cas bending to check the neat pile of bedding on the solitary chair in the room and bringing it to rest at the top of the bed. Cas turned back to Dean then extending his hands, helping him up from the bed and guiding him to sit on that chair, pressing him there whilst he made light work of changing the bedding. Dean watched with interest, an affectionate smile on his face remembering Cas' first failed attempt at _doing battle_ with a duvet cover and the fit of swearing that had followed. Cas had clearly come a long domesticated way since then.

 

Dean thought back over the last few days, at least to what he could remember of them. It wasn't often he was laid low by anything, but what he'd told himself and anyone who would listen that he had little more than a bad cold had morphed into full on flu. Proper flu at that: a fever that Cas had actually mopped his brow through, hallucinations that had him drunkenly crying out at things looming at him in the dark, and so little strength that Cas had had to drag him back and forth to the bathroom on numerous occasions. And all through it, Dean thought with a quiet sense of pride, Cas had cared for him, and remained resolutely by his side.

 

Come to think of it, Dean thought, looking down at the pyjamas that clung to his sweat-stained skin and feeling that general sense of clamminess all over him, maybe Cas had a point; he really was in real need of a shower. A good long one at that.

 

“Sorry I smell,”

 

Cas turned from where he was plumping up their pillows and grinned at him with a small shake of his head, going immediately back to the pillow in his hand.

 

“And... thanks for taking care of me, Cas,”

 

This time Cas stopped what he was doing altogether to step over to where Dean was sat and bend to give him a kiss that said how unnecessary Dean's thanks were. A little later he showed him all over again in the shower, hard enough to make Dean's knees all but give way; Dean put that down to still being weak from being ill, mumbling to himself about not being up to his usual stamina and completely missing Cas' thoroughly amused grin on hearing it.

 

It didn't stop Dean showing his own gratitude to Cas back in their bed afterwards, however, even if it did mean him passing out again almost instantly. This time Cas shook with silent laughter, carding an adoring hand through the back of Dean's hair where he'd fallen asleep on his hip, dragging him up the bed as gentle as was possible, and tucking him in under the duvet, wrapping himself firmly around Dean from behind and grinning even as he fell asleep himself.

 

***

 

 


	17. Epilogue

“ _What are you doing?”_

 

_The laughter in Andrew’s voice has Jacob ducking out of the open window and grinning, letting his eyes deliberately drop down over the rare sight of Andrew’s bare chest there in the afternoon sun._

 

“ _Right now? Getting distracted by you wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. But I was shifting the turntable over near the window so we could hear it from outside,”_

 

“ _I’d apologise but…” Andrew shrugs, and Jacob’s outside again in an instant, pressing up against him hip to hip, chest to naked chest, smile to delighted smile. He can still taste the root beer there on his lips from earlier and swirls his tongue into his mouth, savouring both the flavour and this moment where they’re away from prying eyes, where no one knows them, where they can do this without the caution they need back home._

 

“ _You wouldn’t mean it,” Jacob murmurs back at him, and that murmur creeps into a soft sigh of contentment as Andrew slides his hands over his back and pulls him in a little tighter. They kiss, and there’s something about it being in the open like this, under the heat of the sun, with the crashing of the waves behind them and the salt in the air that makes it feel kind of magical._

 

“ _I wouldn’t,” Andrew agrees, looking so happy and content it’s impossible for Jacob not to be feeling that as well._

 

“ _And neither did you offer to help me,” Jacob adds, sliding his hands down over the curve of Andrew’s ass and pressing up against him._

 

“ _You seem to be doing just fine all by yourself,” Andrew mumbles into his neck as he bends, biting down lightly and smirking there at the way Jacob shivers._

 

“ _Well if you will insist on feeling this good,” Jacob says; Andrew snorts and reaches to cradle Jacob’s face between his hands, kissing him sweetly and breaking away every few seconds just to grin at him._

 

_A little later they are wrapping their arms around one another, abandoning the beach house they stumbled upon this morning after hitchhiking down here just to get away, having had every intention of camping out on the beach. They flex their toes into the sand, carve their initials there inside a heart, dare each other to run deeper and deeper into the waves._

 

_Andrew insists they try and pose for photos with the Polaroid he snuck out from his mom's bedroom last night, wasting five of the six shots alternately pouting and laughing at himself in the pictures, before they head back to the house, messily eating the pie they picked up from the diner they stopped at earlier, feeding each other huge mouthfuls and laughing as it spills out from their lips._

 

 

 

_That laughter fades to something a little more heated; hands find hands and feet lead feet upstairs, and soon there is nothing but the sounds that accompany a tangle of limbs as two bodies slot together as though they have always belonged. After, they doze for a while, fingers tangled around fingers, words whispered from lips so very hopeful about their future, so very far from home._

 

 _The sun tracks across the sky, and they listen to the cawing of the seagulls, with Jacob howling in laughter as Andrew tries to mimic each and every one of them. It’s beautiful, Jacob thinks,_ he _is beautiful; the way he takes the simplest of enjoyment from the easiest of things._

 

_As dusk begins to close in around them, they search the unfamiliar house for candles and light switches, and soon a muted blur of orange bathes the porch. Jacob leads Andrew out quietly, stands him in the middle of the porch and presses him there with a soft kiss, ducks back inside and picks up the vinyl he discovered earlier, lowering it gently on to the turntable and setting it up to come on automatically, because he wants to be outside when the music starts._

 

_Andrew’s eyes light up when he hears the song start; Jacob extends his hands, pulls him in, turns him in a small circle of dance._

 

“ _This is your mom’s favourite, right?” Andrew asks, his smile so sweet Jacob thinks he wants to cry with happiness at this wholeness he’s found._

 

“ _It is,” he agrees, powerless to resist the urge to lean in and kiss him, “but we’ve listened to it so much lately that I think it’s sort of our song now.”_

 

“ _Yeah?” Andrew asks, his voice seeming to burst with the wonder he feels at that thought._

 

“ _Yeah,” Jacob tells him, kissing him again. “I think it’s sort of hopeful. It’s… sort of_ us _. Or… it could be- will be us. When we get away from all this, when we don’t have to- to sneak around anymore. Just us,”_

 

“ _Just us,” Andrew repeats, leaning in and kissing him again, “I want that. I can’t wait for that. You’re the best thing in my whole world… you know that, don’t you, Jacob?”_

 

_Jacob smiles and nods, so overwhelmed with feeling happy that he doesn’t trust his words to come out without them wavering. Instead he takes a deep breath, pulls Andrew a little closer and closes his eyes, bending for a moment to press his forehead against his shoulder and feel secure in his arms. Then he lifts his head a little and softly begins to sing in his ear;_

 

“ _I know beyond a doubt_

_My heart will lead me there soon_

_We'll meet, I know we'll meet, beyond the shore_

_We'll kiss just as before_

_Happy we'll be beyond the sea_

_And never again I'll go sailing…”_

 

***

 

“Put me down! I swear, Cas, put me down!”

 

A deep, rumbling chuckle told Dean there was no way in hell he was getting out of Cas’ grip, sagging in resignation into his arms, disgruntled at the bridal carry because of the ease with which Cas lifted him.

 

A second later and the only thing he had to worry about was breaking the surface; nudging away from their tangle of limbs and gasping for air, laughing and splashing out at him as they caught their breath.

 

“Dick,” Dean called out as he reached and tugged on Cas’ fingers to pull him in. Cas slotted against him with a smirk and wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

 

“You like my dick, Dean,”

 

“Kinda a good job since you’re always being one-”

 

Dean’s retort was cut off with a yell that echoed across the surface of the water and was replaced by loud indignant peals of laughter as Cas tickled him mercilessly.

 

“You tryna drown me?” Dean spluttered, laughing so hard as that tickling dissolved into them dunking each other under the water and splashing out at each other, swimming apart for a couple of seconds before tugging each other back in.

 

“I assume I would be exceptionally good at mouth to mouth,” Cas grinned, though the solemness of his voice had Dean breaking out into raucous laughter all over again.

 

Cas pulled him in, kissing him thoroughly with an appreciative hum to himself, wrapping his arms firmly around Dean as they kicked and kept themselves treading water. Dean raised a hand, pointlessly flattened an erratic strand of hair down against Cas’ head and grinned at him, letting his head fall forward on to Cas’ shoulder giving out a contented sigh.

 

“Alright, genius, how’re we s’posed to get back in the boat, huh?” Dean asked, already weighing up the flank of it for where best to haul themselves on.

 

“I will lift you if you are not able to climb,” Cas promised, chuckling all over again to himself at Dean’s snort of indignance, pushing gently back from him and swimming across.

 

They helped each other up, hauling themselves over the side and flaking out across the tiny deck with heavy breath and laughter. Cas rolled to lean over Dean and kissed him once again, that cheeky grin on his face Dean unable to resist returning.

 

“So now we gotta row back to shore in wet clothes,” Dean grumbled, though he didn’t mean any of it. Day three of a vacation, an actual vacation for the three of them where they did nothing but eat, relax, and enjoy each other’s company - admittedly he and Cas enjoyed each other’s company in ways Sam proclaimed to be too loud and far too often - and he was loving every second of it.

 

“We do not,” Cas countered, standing soggily and stripping down in seconds, his eyes on Dean the entire time.

 

Dean’s eyes trailed down Cas’ naked body, the view inspiring him to roll to his knees, use Cas to haul himself up, lean in to kiss him dirtily and do the same.

 

“You know, Dean,” Cas said, sliding his hands down over Dean’s sides to grip around his waist, before pushing him back enough so that he could slip his hand between them and take them together in his palm, “I think we should share body heat to allow us to warm up a little. It is what people suggest to do to avoid hypothermia,”

 

Dean could do little but stutter in response to Cas’ hand around him and kiss back, but still managed to point out, “Don’t you think we’re kinda defeating the object here? I mean… we’re gonna have to jump back in soon to clean off,”

 

Cas mumbled against his lips, and Dean knew whatever he was thinking was wicked because he could feel the smirk there.

 

“You make an excellent point,”

 

“I do? Oh...”

 

Dean’s words died on his lips as Cas pulled back from him and sank to his knees, taking him straight into his mouth. Dean stumbled forward, Cas’ hands up and keeping him still as he coaxed out groans that seemed to echo out over the water. And as soon as he was finished Dean hauled him back up unsteadily to do the same for him.

 

The row back that followed took all of five minutes despite Dean’s earlier protests, and they tied the boat off before dragging themselves out on to the small pier along with their dripping wet clothes, ringing them out a little and then splaying themselves out there as well.

 

“You enjoy being naked outside,” Cas observed, watching the way Dean spread himself out. Dean couldn’t deny that, not with the quiet smirk around his lips, nor the excited roll of his stomach thinking about the risk of being seen. He cracked his eyes open to look at Cas and felt a jolt in place of that roll as Cas’ eyes drifted over him slow and considering.

 

“You’re plotting,”

 

“I am,” Cas agreed, humming to himself before mirroring Dean’s position.

 

“Gonna share?”

 

“Naturally, since I would need you to be a willing participant in what I am intending,”

 

Dean felt himself impossibly stirring again at Cas’ words and raised his head to look at him incredulously. Cas was oblivious though, eyes closed, sighing back content against the pier beneath him, stroking idle fingers in circles in the now wet wood.

 

“I’m… yours to do whatever you want with,” Dean told him quietly, then watched as Cas slowly raised his head to look at him and smile in a way that had Dean’s breath catching in his throat.

 

“I know,”

 

***

 

“I do _not_ want to know,”

 

The tone of sheer disbelief and horror in Sam’s voice, Dean felt, was reasonably justified though potentially also a little overdramatic. He and Cas had left the house earlier in their shorts, t-shirts and flipflops to row the small boat that came with the beach house they had rented, and now returned as though unintentionally parading in front of him, still wearing the flipflops but covering themselves over with strategically folded squares of still-too-wet-to-wear clothing.

 

“It’s a good job no one’s staying next door to us,” Sam added, and Dean knew from the squeak at the end of the sentence that Sam had forgotten himself and turned in their direction to shout at them, but in doing so had seen a lot more of the back of them both than he really would ever want to see.

 

“Your brother is surprisingly prudish,” Cas observed mildly, leading the way straight up the stairs into the bathroom and turning on the shower, their wet clothes slopping into a corner abandoned.

 

“He’s just… ah he’s just…” But Dean’s half-hearted defence of Sam was stolen from him as Cas pulled him under the shower spray and moaned at the feel of the warm water sluicing over his skin.

 

Dean took a moment to slide his hands over Cas’ sides and pull him close, press a promising kiss to his lips for later then pulled back, nudged him round, felt the little thrill he always did when Cas did as he was told and gave himself over to Dean to wash.

 

Dean lathered up the shampoo in his hands then began kneading it through Cas’ hair, feeling himself pulse at the groan Cas gave out, suspecting it was at least a little intentional.

 

“‘Sides,” Dean added, before he let himself get too distracted, “He’s technically your brother as well,”

 

A hand reached up to circle over the ring around Dean’s finger and was followed by a hum of amused agreement, before falling back down and once again allowing Dean to move him wherever he wanted as he cleaned them both up. Dean slid his own fingers over Cas’ hand briefly, the reassurance of the ring there beneath his fingers also a physical weight pressing against his chest.

 

It had been a while now, probably more than six months since they had almost lost each other because of their miscommunication. And in the aftermath of that where they had carefully and gently put each other back together, these small symbols of commitment became an anchor to them, for any moment of doubt, any misplaced angry word.

 

“Then _our_ brother is prudish,” Cas amended, sounding both amused and delighted, nudging back until Dean had to wrap his arms around him and nuzzle into his neck, Cas’ back firmly slotted against his chest.

 

“Yeah, if he’s so prudish, how come he’s got himself another date tonight, huh? That’s two nights in a row,” Dean fired back, though he knew at least part of that was Sam being overly careful to give them private time to spend together on their own.

 

“So we have the house to ourselves again,” Cas replied, sounding wickedly pleased; Dean found himself swallowing with difficulty at the many possibilities Cas could be planning for them.

 

“We do,”

 

“Have I mentioned that I like Sam very much,”

 

Dean snorted in laughter, bending to press a kiss to his shoulder.

 

“‘S funny; I like him a whole lot more now as well,”

 

Cas turned in Dean’s arms then, smiling at him so happily it caught Dean’s breath all over again. They leaned in for a kiss, gently swaying there under the shower spray with no hurry or purpose to be or do anything else.

 

“Hey,” Dean said softly after a few minutes, “I- I sorta got my own ideas for us tonight as well. Think… think your plans can fit in with mine?”

 

Cas’ hands slid down over Dean’s hips and he pressed against him in a way that was nothing but full of intent. But he gave a small nod, pressing a kiss to Dean’s jaw. “My plan is to spend my existence with you in whatever way we both see fit. I am fairly sure our plans will coincide,”

 

Dean felt his face splitting into a grin, and a very tiny part of him wanted to laugh in embarrassment at the earnestness with which Cas had given his statement. But the reassurance that seeped into him from it, Dean sighed to himself, that feeling he would never get enough of.

 

“Can’t wait,” Dean told him, pressing his own soft kiss to Cas’ cheek before wrapping his arms tightly around him and sighing out content.

 

***

 

After dusk, two bodies slotted together perfectly, hip to hip, chest to chest, turning a small circle in time with the melody embracing them, lifted by lyrics as they leaned on one another in the soft orange glow from the lamp overhead.

 

The laptop was sat on a table to one side of the small porch and blasted out a playlist of songs Dean had carefully selected for this very occasion, half-wishing for a vinyl player instead of the crime against music that was the digital mp3 file, but finding himself reluctantly making do with what he had to hand.

 

At the other end of the table was an almost empty bottle of a red wine Cas had sampled a month or so back and declared the best he had ever tasted. Their stomachs were full with the meal Dean had spent a good couple of hours that afternoon preparing, and a pie sat waiting on the kitchen counter ready to be cut into later when their appetites saw fit. Simple pleasures for the simplicity that was them; Dean wouldn't have things any other way.

 

“I love you,” Dean whispered into Cas’ ear, the words falling so easy from his mouth now it was a wonder that they ever hadn’t before. Cas tilted his head to press them together and turned to press a kiss to the side of Dean’s before dropping his own down on his shoulder.

 

“As I love you,” Cas told him, the sigh rippling through him suggesting just how very happy he was in that moment.

 

One song faded into another as the evening wore on, as they turned that small circle in each other's arms, sometimes leaning on each other’s shoulders, others leaning in to kiss. And at the sound of another song starting up Dean felt Cas pause, his head raise curiously to look up at Dean.

 

“This song?” he asked, clearly not expecting it.

 

Dean nodded, bent to kiss him then leaned back with a smile. “Yeah. ‘s a good song. Not letting no ghost steal it from us,”

 

Cas’ lips twitched up into the beginnings of a grin.

 

“‘Sides-”

 

A gust of wind blew in suddenly then, shaking the wine bottle enough to rock it but not to tip it over. The porch felt fuller than with just the two of them for a moment, then the feeling dropped, gone as if never there.

 

Sliding his gaze back from the rocking bottle and to Cas’ face Dean’s eyes were wide in surprise.

 

“Coincidence. Right?” he said, looking to Cas for his agreement. Cas stared back at him then wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist to show him he wanted Dean to step back with him. They parted for a second, with Cas pouring the last of the wine into their glasses and passing one to Dean.

 

“To Jacob and Andrew,” Cas said in a hushed, respectful voice Dean was unsure he had ever heard from him before. “I hope that wherever you have found yourselves you are happy,”

 

Dean paused for a second, then raised and tilted his glass. “Seconded,”

 

With one arm still around each other they slowly drained their glasses, stood side by side looking out to the sea, catching glimpses of its reflection occasionally in the moonlight.

 

Cas slid Dean’s glass from his fingers and set them down on the table, holding out his arms for Dean to step into once again and humming as their chests bumped together. Another song started; Dean felt Cas smiling into his neck and tighten his grip a little.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing,”

 

“Cas…”

 

Cas lifted his head and smiled at him, his expression affectionate. “This song. I like this song,”

 

“I know you do, ‘s why I put it on here,” Dean smiled, dropping a quick kiss on him.

 

“It is… distinctly modern,” Cas settled on, looking as though he had searched very hard for the words. “I assumed… I assumed that anything in your music selection would have to at least be from your seventies-”

 

“ _My_ seventies?” Dean laughed, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Yes,” Cas replied easily with a glint in his eye. “I myself have been present for _many_ decades of the seventies in multiple centuries-”

 

“Yeah, well, I wasn't even really around for _my_ seventies, was I? Being born right at the very end of it-”

 

“And yet you insist on listening to music from this period. Intriguing,”

 

Dean snorted with laughter and wrapped Cas up in a hug, continuing to turn him in a small circle.

 

“Most of it is,” he admitted eventually, dropping a kiss to the side of his hair, “Music's a bit like _your_ wine, Cas. Gotta respect a good vintage. But you know, Cas. _You_ like this song. 's why it's on here. And you know... this… well this isn’t half bad,”

 

Cas' smile split, his eyes dancing with mirth as he leaned in and whispered, “‘The new Led Zeppelin'-”

 

“You take that back,” Dean stuttered, feeling Cas laughing against his shoulder.

 

“I will not,” Cas disagreed, his voice loaded with amusement as he pressed a kiss into Dean’s neck.

 

“That’s just… that’s just _rude_ -”

 

“How about we go back inside and I demonstrate just how very sorry I am not,” Cas suggested, sliding his hands down to slot into Dean’s jean pockets and squeeze. Dean’s brain gave a stutter, still pretending to be offended yet already ghosting with images of whatever Cas might have in mind.

 

Cas took advantage of Dean’s apparent confusion, reaching up to cradle his face and kiss him thoroughly before pulling back and leaving him standing there feeling a little stupefied.

 

“I love you,” Cas said simply then, smiling at him before turning away and closing the lid of the laptop, the music coming to a stop a few seconds later. “It has been at least a few hours since I have shown you just how much,”

 

Eyes dropping slowly to Cas’ wriggling fingers and Dean found himself tangling his own around them. Cas turned, lightly pulling him forwards and leading him back inside the house, closing the door behind them with a solid click.

 

Laughter echoed out on to the porch through the open window, the lightness of it mingling with the rush of the sea crashing in front of the house. That laughter was soon replaced by the sighs of something altogether softer, much more intimate, a silhouette coming together under muted light as two bodies sank into each other to form one.

 


End file.
